DAILY 

SONG 


FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 

REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM   TO 

THE  LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


^dx&TkAuJU- 


(/Ldtz/uM 


2.o 


YEAR-BOOK  OF  CHEER 


A 


•S  the  bird  trims  her  to  the  gale, 
I  trim  myself  to  the  storm  of  time, 
I  man  the  rudder,  reef  the  sail, 
Obey  the  voice  at  eve  obeyed  at  prime: 
"  Lowly  faithful,  banish  fear, 
Right  onward  drive  unharmed; 
The  port,  well  worth  the  cruise,  is  near, 
And  every  wave  is  charmed." 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


DAILY    SOJsfefe 


*  MAY  19  1933  '' 


\V 


Z'i 


A    YEAR-BOOK 
SPIRITUAL   CHEER 


<?eic«i  st ].w 


HODDER  &   STOUGHTON 

NEW   YORK 

GEORGE   H.   DORAN   COMPANY 


Copyright,  19 12 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


THE  •   PLIMPTON  •   PRESS 
[  W  D  *  O  ] 

NORWOOD  •  MASS  •  U  ■  S  •  A 


PREFACE 

JL  HE  purpose  of  this  gathering  of  verse  is  to 
offer  a  helpful  thought  or  sentiment  for  every  day 
in  the  year.  Whether  it  be  of  joy  in  Nature,  com- 
fort under  various  distresses,  aspiration,  prayer, 
thanksgiving,  views  of  life  —  both  humorous,  phil- 
osophic, radiant  and  sombre,  with  the  gaiety  of 
child-life,  the  depth  of  maturity,  and  the  serenity 
of  age  —  the  aim  is  one  :   spiritual  cheer. 

The  compilation  has  been  made  richer  by  the 
kind  courtesy  of  authors  and  publishers  who  have 
permitted  the  inclusion  of  copyright  material,  and 
sincere  thanks  are  rendered  to  them.  Of  auth- 
ors, —  John  Vance  Cheney,  Mary  Lowe  Dickinson, 
Theodosia  Garrison,  Dora  Read  Goodale,  William 
A.  Houghton,  Walter  Malone,  Edward  S.  Martin, 
Lloyd  Mifflin,  Rossiter  W.  Raymond,  James 
Whitcomb  Riley,  George  Santayana,  Minot  J. 
Savage,  Andrew  B.  Saxton,  Clinton  ScoIIard, 
Frederick  George  Scott,  and  May  Riley  Smith: 
of  publishers,  —  Messrs.  D.  Appleton  &  Co.  for 
William  CuIIen  Bryant,  The  Century  Co.  for 
A.  B.  Saxton,  Messrs.  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co. 
for  Sarah  K.  Bolton,  Messrs.  Dodd,  Mead  & 
Co.  for  Paul  L.  Dunbar,  Messrs.  E  P.  Dutton 
in 


iv  Preface 

&  Co.  for  Phillips  Brooks,  the  Houghton  Mifflin 
Co.  for  Alice  Carey,  Higginson,  Holmes,  Lucy 
Larcom,  Longfellow,  Lowell,  Lizette  W.  Reese, 
E.  R.  Sill,  Harriet  P.  Spofford,  H.  B.  Stowe,  and 
Whittier  —  to  these,  special  acknowledgements. 
Beyond  the  above,  non-copyright  material  has 
been  included  from  those  and  other  authors,  and 
the  Index  of  Authors  and  Titles  notes  the  pub- 
lishers from  whom  readers  may  get  more  of  any 
American  poet  quoted,  whose  books  are  in  print. 


CONTENTS 


Index  to  Authors  and  Titles. 
SONGS 


PAGE 

Abraham  Lincoln  .  45 

Afflictions 280 

Ah!    Yet  Consider 

it  Again 40 

America 189 

Appointed       Way, 

The 44 

As  Pants  the  Hart  236 

Aspiration 177 

At  Sea 268 

At     Stratford  -  on  - 

Avon 117 

Authority 124 

Autumn  Jewels  .  .  .  288 
Autumn     of     Life, 

The 337 

Babie,  The 257 

Bard's  Epitaph,  A .  207 
Battle  -  Hymn  .  of 
Gustavus    Adol  - 

phus 104 

Beati  Illi 210 

Beauty  of  Life,  The  37 

Beauty's  Sadness.  .  289 

Bells  of  Yule,  The.  361 

Be  Thou  Content  .  1 1 1 
Beyond  the  Belt  of 

Darkness 33 

Blissful  Youth 228 


PAGE 

Blossoming    Spring  95 

Body  and  Soul.  ...  213 

Brook's  Reply,  The  250 

Calm 320 

Calm   Divine,   The  249 

Centennial    Hymn.  188 
Cheerful         Heart, 

The 26 

Child,  The 239 

Childhood       Faith, 

The 215 

Christ  Longed  For  226 

ChristusConsoIator  80 

City,  The 265 

Clover,  The 173 

Comfort 113 

Coming   of  Spring, 

The 106 

Compensation  ....  355 
Confido  et  Conqui- 

esco 274 

Conscience 59 

Contemplation  Up- 
on Flowers,  A .  .  .  1 38 

Contentment 231 

Cost  and  Worth ...  171 

Courage 223 

Crescent    and    the 

Cross,  The 336 


VI 


Contents 


PAGE 

Crocus,  The 65 

Crowded  Out 360 

Curtain       of       the 

Dark,  The 262 

Daffodils 123 

Daily  Walk,  The  .  .  77 

Darwinism 100 

Day   of  Judgment, 

The 242 

Death 353 

Death  the  Leveller  78 

December 338 

Desire 17 

Divine     Refreshing  300 

Do  Something  ....  34 
"  Do       the       Next 

Thing" 311 

Dream,  A 161 

Dying  Christian  to 

his  Soul,  The  ...  79 

Early        Blue-Bird, 

The 72 

Easter 112 

English  Robin,  The  73 

Enid's  Song 25 

Enriching  Love  .  .  .  284 

Evening 302 

Evening  Hymn,  An  142 
Evening  and  Morn- 
ing   151 

Evening  and  Morn- 
ing Star.  . 241 

Evening  Cloud,  The  277 

Ever  True,  The .  .  .  252 

Face  the  Future.  .  .  12 

Fairy  Song 275 

Faith 169 


PAGE 

Faith    and    Reason  152 

Faiths 363 

Fallen  Tower,  The  261 

Father's  Voice,  The  248 

Fidelity 191 

Fire  of  Love,   The  348 

First-DayThoughts  174 

Flowers 164 

Flowers,  The 192 

Flower      of     Their 

Souls,  The 60 

Flowers         without 

Fruit 283 

For  a'  That  and  a' 

That 68 

For  Divine  Strength  335 

Forefathers,  The  .  .  358 

Forest  Glade,  The.  200 

Free  Spirit 227 

From  "Fancy"  .  .  .  357 
From  "Light" ....  181 
From  "The  Water- 
Fall"  101 

From  "Thoughts  in 

a  Garden" 165 

Girl  of  Pompeii,  A  318 

God  and  Man 97 

God  Everywhere  in 

Nature 233 

God's  First  Temple  216 

God's  Grace 259 

Golden  Mean,  The  190 

Golden  Text,  The  82 
Good     Conscience, 

The 23 

Good     that    Never 

Satis  fi  e  s     the 

Mind,  A 18 


Contents 


VII 


PAGE 

Grand   Old   Name, 

The 344 

Great    Ocean!  ....  225 

Green  Grass  under 

the  Snow,  The    .  61 

Gulf-Weed 201 

Hallowed  Ground  .  260 
Happiest        Heart, 

The 179 

Happy  Life,  The .  .  254 

Harvest-Hours  . .  .  278 
Harvest    of    Love, 

The 366 

Heart  of  the  Night, 

The 29 

Hidden  Joys 159 

His  Love  and  Care  293 

His  Pilgrimage.  ...  91 

Home 54 

Home        Thoughts 

from  Abroad ....  94 

Hope 66 

Hope 321 

Hope  and  Fear.  ...  13 

How  do  we  Know  ?  304 

Human     Greatness  271 

Humanity 41 

Human    Sympathy  327 

Hymn 317 

Hymn  for  the  New 

Year 368 

Hymn  of  Praise.  .  .  237 

Hymn  of  Trust  ...  51 

Hymn  of  Winter . .  58 

Hymn  to  Adversity  42 

Hymn  to  the  City  281 

If  We  Had  but  a 

Day 212 


PAGE 

I    Lay    in    Sorrow, 

Deep  Distressed  326 
Ilka  Blade  o'  Grass 

KepsitsAinDrap 

o'  Dew 208 

In  a  Lecture-Room  202 
In      a      September 

Night 267 

Individual         Soul, 

The 145 

"In    Every    Thing 

Giving  Thanks"  70 

Inevitable,  The  ...  15 

Influence 175 

In  Many  Parts 286 

Inner  Calm,  The.  .  221 
In      These      Calm 

Shades 160 

Introit 20 

Invictus 24 

Invocation  to  Rain 

in  Summer 180 

I  Praised  the  Earth  220 

Jesus 50 

Joyes  of  Hevene.  . .  87 

Judge  Not 305 

Judgment 319 

Judgment,    The.  .  .  334 

Kingdom,  The.  ...  107 

Labor 137 

Largeness  of  Truth, 

The 322 

Larger  Hope,    The  130 

Last  Lines 340 

Late  October 303 

Lattice  at   Sunrise, 

The   158 


VIII 


Contents 


PAGE 

Laus  Infantium.  .  .  89 
L.     E.     L.'s     Last 

Question 330 

Lessons    from    the 

Gorse   333 

Life 157 

Life 176 

Life 203 

Life,  Lord  of  Death  53 

Life's  Mystery ....  119 

Life's  Sweetness.  .  .  209 

Light  on  the  Cloud  251 

Longing  for  Heaven  57 

Lord,  I  Have  Lain.  308 

Loss  in  Delay 11 

Love 185 

Love  of  God,  The  199 

Love-Service 35 

Love's  Sure  Hold  .  253 

Low  Spirits 204 

Lux      est      Umbra 

Dei 352 

Man's  Medley ...  .  187 

March 63 

Master's       Touch, 

The 67 

May 154 

May  and  the  Poets  132 
Means     to     Attain 

Happy  Life,  The  76 

Message,  The 81 

Milton   346 

Ministering  Angels  307 

Moonlight 295 

Moral  Cosmetics.  .  38 

Morning 133 

Morning  Hymn.  .  .  122 

Morning  Hymn.  .  .  172 


PAGE 

Morning  Splendour, 

The   105 

Moss  Rose,  The.  .  .  163 

Mother-Song 256 

My  Garden 247 

My    God,    I    Love 

Thee 71 

My  Minde  to  Me  a 

Kingdom  Is 282 

"My  Sorrow  is  My 

Throne" 86 

My   Times   are    in 

Thy  Hand 329 

Name  in  the  Sand, 

A 217 

Nature 264 

Nature's  Gladness.  178 

Nature's  Hymns  .  .  234 

Nature's  Monitions  121 

Nature's    Teaching  218 

Nature's  Tranquil-  197 

Iitv 

Night-Death 186 

Night  Thoughts.  .  .  292 

November 332 

Now! 56 

"Now  Like  a  Red 

Leaf" 324 

O  Love  of  God  .  .  341 
O    Yet    We   Trust 

that        Somehow 

Good 195 

Old  and  the  New, 

The 153 

Old  Letters 351 

On  his  Blindness  299 
On       his        Divine 

Poems 339 


Contents 


IX 


PAGE 

On  the  Mount 136 

Onward 243 

Opportunity 6 

Opportunity 7 

Orion 28 

Other   World,    The  129 
Our    Living    Dead  118 
Outwards  or  Home- 
wards   328 

Over-Soul,  The  ...  219 

Patience 127 

Patient  Endurance  298 

Peace 99 

Peace  on  Earth!.  .  .  367 
Per       Pacem       ad 

Lucem 30 

Perseverance 120 

Pictures 235 

Pictures  of  our  Past  279 

Piety 214 

Pilgrim        Fathers, 

The 359 

Pleasant  Lair,  The  193 

Plough,  The 125 

Pluck 222 

Poet,  The 141 

Poet's   Epitaph,    A  206 
Praise  to  the  Crea- 
tor   196 

Prayer 16 

Prayer 93 

Prayer 263 

Prayer 301 

Prayer,  A 48 

Prayer,  A 211 

Prayer,  The 148 

Present,  The 4 

Procrastination  ...  10 


PAGE 

Progress  Eternal  .  .  90 

Prospect,  The 350 

Psalm  of  Praise,  A  287 

Pulley,  The 19 

Questions 310 

Quiet  Work 309 

Rain 314 

Remember 88 

Remember  Me ....  84 

Rest 205 

Rest 316 

Retirement 232 

Retirement 246 

Rocked       in       the 
Cradle      of     the 

Deep 269 

Rooted  in  Love    .  .  146 

Rules  and  Lessons.  74 

Rural    Sounds.  ...  166 

Sacred  Poetry 21 

Saddest    Fate,  The  364 

Said  I  not  So  ? .  .  .  .  325 
SayNot  the  Struggle 

Naught  Availeth  75 

Sea  Shell,  The  ....  224 

Sea,  The 240 

Seed    Growing    Se- 
cretly, The 115 

Self-Examination   .  3 

Shakespeare 116 

Shepherd  and  King  69 
Shepherd         Boy's 
Song  inthe  Valley 

of  Humiliation  .  .  43 

Show  me  the  Way  102 

Sir  Philip  Sidney  .  .  345 


Contents 


PAGE 

Sky-Lark,  The.  ...  156 
Snow  —  A     Winter 

Sketch 8 

Snowdrop,  A 64 

Song 266 

Song 315 

Song  of  the  Clouds  182 
Song   of   Low    De- 
gree, A 296 

Song  of  the   Roses  343 
Song  of  the  Silent 

Land 128 

Sorrow's  Mission.  .  52 

Spirit  Visitants  ...  85 

Spirit    World,    The  306 

Spread  Sail! 83 

Spring  Sweetness.  .  135 
Spring-Tide    Hour, 

The 109 

Still,  Still  with  Thee  143 

Strong  Son  of  God  131 

Success 22 

Summer  Evening,  A  229 

Sunrise 150 

Superscription,  A.  .  14 

Sure  Defence,  The  32 

Sweet  after  Showers  1 1 4 

Sweet  Content ....  255 

Sweet  Forgetting.  .  347 

Sweet  is  the  Rose  .  92 

Take  the  World  as 

it  Is 291 

Teach  Me  to  Live!  103 

Tears 323 

"Thanatopsis". . .  .  244 

Things  Celestial.  .  .  258 
Thoughts      from 

Goethe 5 


page 

Thou  Knowest.  ...  313 

Throstle,  The 108 

Through  Life 270 

Thy  Will  be  Done .  .  331 

Thy  Will,  Not  Mine  98 

Time  and  Death  .  .  31 

Time  Misspent.  ...  46 

Times  Go  by  Turns  290 
Tis    but    a    Little 

Faded  Flower.  .  .  285 

To  an  Enemy 297 

To  Autumn 294 

To   his   Saviour,    a 

t   Child 162 

"To      Jane  —  The 

Invitation" 62 

To  My  Friends  .  .  .  365 

To  Sleep 27 

To  the  Cuckoo. ...  134 

To  the  Dandelion  .  126 
To  the  Grasshopper 

and  Cricket 183 

To  the  Heights.  ...  149 

To  the  Skylark  ...  168 
To  Thine  Own  Self 

be  True 276 

Torch  of  Love,  The  1 1  o 
Treasures    and 

Friends 349 

Trust 198 

Two  Infinities 155 

Unknown,  The.  ...  170 

Unseen,  The. 96 

Use     of      Flowers, 

The 139 

Van  Elsen 272 

Virtue 147 


Contents 


XI 


PAGE 

Voice  of  the  Christ 
Child,  The 362 


49 
55 

238 


273 


Wait  on  the  Lord  . 

Washington 

Water-Lily,  The.  .  . 
Way,     the     Truth, 

and  the  Life,  The 

Wealth 47 

What  of  That?.  ..  .  312 
What  Life  Hath.  .  .  354 
What     Might      be 

Done 39 

What     Was     Good 

Shall  Live 245 


Who  Gather  Gold  . 

Wind  and  Sea 

Wind  and  the  Pine, 

The 

Winter 

Winter   Meditation 

Winter  Song 

Wish,  A.......... 

W  o  m  a  n '  s  W  i  s  h  , 

A 

Worth     of     Hours, 

The 


PAGE 
140 

144 

356 

9 

36 

342 

230 

167 
184 


Youth's  Warning.  .      194 


Index  to  First  Lines. 


369 


INDEX 

OF  AUTHORS  AND  TITLES 

PAGE 

ADAMS,    SARAH    FLOWER.       England, 
i 805- i 849. 
Thy  Will,  not  Mine    .......       98 

ALDRICH,  THOMAS  BAILEY  .  America, 
1836-1907. 

Crescent  and  the  Cross,  The 336 

"Thanatopsis" 244 

To  My  Friends 365 

Publishers:   Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston. 

ALEXANDER,   CECIL  FRANCES. 

Ireland,  1823-1895. 
Longing  for  Heaven 57 

ANDROS,  R.  S.  S.     America,  d.  1859. 

Perseverance 120 

ARISTOPHANES.       Greece,  abt.  450-380 

B.C. 

Song  of  the  Clouds  (The  Clouds;  trans,  of  A. 

Lang) 182 

ARNOLD,  SIR  EDWIN.     England,  1832- 
1904. 
Message,  The  (Death  in  Arabia)         ...        81 

ARNOLD,    MATTHEW.     England,    1822- 
1888. 
Quiet  Work 309 

Shakespeare       .       .  116 

Touch  of  Love,  The  (The  Buried  Life)    .      .      no 
xiii 


xiv       Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

AUSTIN,  ALFRED.     England,  1835. 

Mother-Song  (Prince  Lucifer)       ....     256 

AUSTIN,  JOHN.     England,  d.  1669. 

Hymn  of  Praise 237 

AUTHOR  UNKNOWN 

Cheerful  Heart,  The 26 

How  Do  We  Know? 304 

Morning   Splendour,    The    (Translator   Un- 

KNOWN   .  IO5 

Saddest  Fate,  The 364 

Through  Life 270 

What  of  That?# 312 

BABCOCK,  MALTBIE  DAVENPORT. 

America,  1858-1901. 
In  Many  Parts    (Thoughts  for   Every  Day 
Living) 287 

Publishers:    Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York. 

BAILEY,      PHILIP      JAMES.      England, 
1816-1902. 
Onward  (Festus) 243 

BAILLIE,  JOANNA.   Scotland,  1 792-1 851. 

Pictures  (De  Montjort) 235 

BALLANTINE,  JAMES.     Scotland,  1808- 

1877. 
Ilka  Blade  o'  Grass 208 

BARBAULD,  ANNA  L/ETITIA.    England, 
1 743-1 825. 
Life 203 

BARTON,    BERNARD.       England,    1784- 

1849. 
Sea,  The 240 

BEATTY,   PAKENHAM  THOMAS. 
England,  1855- 
To  Thine  Own  Self  Be  True   .....     276 


and   Tit le s  xv 


PAGE 

BEAUMONT,    JOSEPH.      England,    1615- 

1699. 
Home 54 

BELL,    H.    T.    MACKENZIE.       England, 
1856- 
At  Stratford-on-Avon 117 

BENNETT,   WILLIAM   COX.      England, 
1 820- 1 895. 
Invocation  to  Rain  in  Summer    .      .      .      .      180 

BLANCHARD,   SAMUEL  LAMAN.     Eng- 
land, 1 804- 1 84  5. 
Hidden  Joys 159 

BOLTON,  SARAH  KNOWLES.     America, 
1841- 
Inevitable,  The 15 

Publishers:  T.  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.,  New  York. 

BONAR,  HORATIUS.    Scotland,  1808- 1889. 

Inner  Calm,  The 221 

Master's  Touch,  The 67 

O  Love  of  God 34 1 

Thy  Will  Be  Done 331 

BOURDILLON,      FRANCIS      WILLIAM. 
England,   1852. 

At  Sea 268 

Outwards  or  Homewards 328 

BRADY,     NICHOLAS.        See    Tate    and 
Brady. 

BRONTli,    EMILY.     England,  1818-1848. 

Last  Lines 340 

Prayer,  A 48 

Retirement 232 

BROOKS,  CHARLES  TIMOTHY. 

America,  1813-1883. 
Winter  Song  (German  0/  L.  H.  C.  Holty)     .     342 


xvi     Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

BROOKS,  PHILLIPS.  America,  1835-1893.  1 

Voice  of  the  Christ  Child,  The     ....      362 
Publishers:   E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co.,  New  York. 

BROWN,    THOMAS    EDWARD. 
England,  i  830-1 897. 
My  Garden 247 

BROWNING,    ELIZABETH     BARRETT. 
England,  1 809-1 861. 

Comfort 113 

Father's  Voice,  The 248 

L.  E.  L.'s  Last  Question 330 

Lessons  from  the  Gorse 333 

Love-Service 35 

Prospect,  The 350 

BROWNING,  ROBERT.     England,  1812- 
1889. 

God  and  Man  (Rabbi  Ben  Ezra)        ...  97 

Home  Thoughts  from  Abroad      ....  94 

Song  (James  Lee) 266 

What  Was  Good  Shall  Live  (Abt  Vogler)      .  245 

BRYANT,   WILLIAM    CULLEN. 
America,  1 794-1 878. 
Beyond  the  Belt  of  Darkness  (The  Flood  0/ 

Years) 33 

God's  First  Temples  (A  Forest  Hymn)    .      .      216 

Hymn  to  the  City 281 

In  These  Calm  Shades  (A  Forest  Hymn)      .      160 
Publishers:  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  New  York. 

BULWER.      See    Lytton,    Edward    Bul- 
wer,   Lord. 

BUNYAN,    JOHN.     England,  1628-1688. 

Shepherd  Boy's  Song  (Pilgrim's  Progress)    .       43 

BURLEIGH,   WILLIAM   HENRY. 
America,  1812-1871. 
Rain 314 


and   Titles  xvii 

PAGE 

BURMAN,    ELLEN    ELIZABETH. 

England,  pub.  1862. 

Teach  Me  to  Live! 103 

BURNS,  ROBERT.     Scotland,  1 759-1 796. 

Bard's  Epitaph,  A 207 

For  a'  That  and  a'  That 68 

Judgment  (To  the  Unco  Guid)      .      .      .      .      319 
BUTLER,    FRANCES    ANNE    KEMBLE, 
England,  1809- 1903. 

Faith 347 

BUTTS,     MARY     FRANCES.      America, 
1837- 
Water-Lily,  The 238 

CAMERON,      GEORGE      FREDERICK. 
Nova  Scotia,  1 854-1 887. 

Golden  Text,  The 82 

CAMPBELL,  THOMAS.     England,  1777- 
1824. 

Hallowed  Ground 260 

Hope  (Pleasures  of  Hope) 66 

CAMPION,    THOMAS.       England,     abt. 
1575-1619. 

Things  Celestial 258 

CANTON,    WILLIAM.     England,  1845- 

Laus  Infantium 89 

CARY,  ALICE.     America,  1820-1871. 

Dream,  A 161 

Publishers:   Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

CASWELL,   EDWARD.      England,    1814- 
"My  God  I  Love  Thee"  (Latin  of  St.  Fran- 
cis Xavier) 71 

CHARLES,    ELIZABETH    RUNDLE. 
England,  d.  1897. 
Battle  Hymn  of  Gustavus  Adolphus  (From 

Swedish)   .  104 

Now !  (The  Verdict  oj  Death) 56 


xviii    Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

CHENEY,  JOHN  VANCE.   America,  1848- 

Happiest  Heart,  The   (Poems)  .  .      179 

Publishers:   Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

CLOUGH,    ARTHUR    HUGH.      England, 

1819-1861. 

Ah!  Yet  Consider  It  Again 40 

Autumn  Jewels  (Bothie  of  Tober-na-Vuolicb)  288 

In  a  Lecture  Room 202 

"Say  not  the  Struggle  Naught  Availeth"  .  75 

COLERIDGE,     HARTLEY.      England, 
1 796- 1 849. 

November 332 

Prayer 16 

COLERIDGE,  SAMUEL  TAYLOR. 
England,    1 772-1 834. 
Night  Thoughts  (The  Pains  oj  Sleep)     .      .      292 
Treasures  and  Friends 349 

COLERIDGE,  SARA.   England,  1802-1852. 
Child,  The 239 

COWLEY,   ABRAHAM.      England,    1619- 

r  ,.l667- 

Wish,  A 230 

COWPER,  WILLIAM.  England,  i  731-1800. 

God's  Grace 259 

Rural  Sounds  (The  Task) 166 

Winter  Meditation  (The  Task)     ....  36 

CRABBE,  GEORGE.    England,  1 754-1 832. 

Faith  and  Reason 152 

CRANCH,       CHRISTOPHER      PEARSE. 
America,  1813-1892. 
Compensation 355 

DANA,    RICHARD    HENRY.       America, 

1 787- 1 879. 
Free  Spirit  (The  Soul) 227 


and   Titles  xix 

PAGE 

DARMESTETER,     MRS.    A.    M.    F.    R. 
England,  1857- 
Darwinism 100 

DEKKER,     THOMAS.         England,     abt. 
1570-1641. 
Sweet  Content  (Patient  Grissell)        .      .      .      255 

DE  VERE,  SIR  AUBREY.      Ireland,  abt. 
1 788- 1 846. 
Time  Misspent 46 

DE  VERE,  AUBREY  THOMAS.  Ireland, 
1 814-1902. 

Afflictions 280 

Life's  Sweetness 209 

DICKINSON,  MARY  LOWE.       America, 
1839- 
If  We  Had  But  a  Day 212 

DIXON,     RICHARD     WATSON. 
England,  1833- 
Humanity 41 

DOBELL,  SYDNEY.     England,  1824- 1874. 

America 189 

DONNE,     JOHN.       England,     1573-1631. 
Death 353 

DORR,  JULIA  C.RIPLEY.  America,  1825- 
Thou  Knowest    (Father   Anselm   and  Other 

Poems) 313 

Publishers:    Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York. 

DOUBLEDAY,  THOMAS.     England. 

Life 157 

DOUDNEY,     SARAH.       England,      1842- 

What  Life  Hath 354 

DOWDEN,     EDWARD.      Ireland,    1843- 

Two  Infinities  155 


xx      Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

DRUMMOND,    WILLIAM.      Scotland, 
i 585-1 649. 
A  Good  that  Never  Satisfies  the  Mind    .  18 

DUNBAR,  PAUL  LAURENCE.     America, 
1 872- 1 906. 
Hymn 317 

Publishers:   Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.,  New  York.       • 

DYER,  SIR   EDWARD.     England,    1540- 
1607. 
My  Minde  to  Me  a  Kingdom  Is     .      .      .     282 

ELLERTON,  JOHN.   England,  1826-1893. 

Our  Living  Dead 118 

ELLIOTT,  EBENEZER.     England,   1781- 
1849. 
Poet's  Epitaph,  A  (Robert  Burns)      .      .      .     206 

EMERSON,  RALPH  WALDO.      America, 
1803-1882. 

Onward!   (Terminus) 2 

Over-Soul,  The  (The  Problem)      .      .      .      .     219 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

FABER,   FREDERICK  WILLIAM. 
England,  1814-1863. 
Low  Spirits 204 

FABRICIUS,  DR.  JACOB.     Sweden,  abt. 
1630. 
Battle     Hymn     of     Gustavus    Adolphus 

(Trans.  0/ Elizabeth  Rundle  Charles)  .      104 

FAIRLESS,     MICHAEL.     Ireland. 

Song  of  Low  Degree,  A  (The  Grey  Brethren)     296 

FENNER,    CORNELIUS    GEORGE. 
America,  i  822-1 847. 
Gulf- Weed   ..........     201 


and  Title s  xxi 

PAGE 

GARRISON,  THEODOSIA. 
America,  Living. 
Conscience 59 

Publisher:  Mitchell  Kennerly,  New  York. 

GERHARDT,    PAUL.        Germany,    1607- 
1676. 
Be  Thou  Content 1 1 1 

GOETHE,  JOHANN  WOLFGANG. 
Germany,  1749- 1832. 
Thoughts:    God;     Losses;    Life  (Trans,  of 
W.  A.  Houghton) 5 

GOODALE,  DORA  READ.  America,  1866- 

Judgment,  The 334 

Publishers:   G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York. 

GOULD,    HANNAH    FLAGG.      America, 
1 789-1 865. 
Name  in  the  Sand,  A 217 

GRAY,  THOMAS.     England,    1716-1771. 
Blissful    Youth  (Distant   Prospect   of   Eton 

College)     . 228 

Hymn  to  Adversity 42 

GREG,  SAMUEL.     England,   1804-1877- 

On  the  Mount 136 

GREGORY,  THE  GREAT.       Rome,  540- 
604. 
Morning  Splendour,  The    (Translator  from 
Latin  Unknown) 105 

HALL,   CHRISTOPHER  NEWMAN. 
England,  1 816-1902. 
My  Times  Are  in  Thy  Hand 329 

HEBER,    REGINALD.       England,     1783- 
1826. 
I  Praised  the  Earth 220 


xxii     Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

HEMANS,  FELICIA  DOROTHEA. 
England,  1-93- 1835. 
Pilgrim  Fathers,  The 359 

HENLEY,     WILLIAM    ERNEST. 
England,  1849-1903. 
Invictus 24 

HERBERT,  GEORGE.    Wales,  1593-1632. 

From  "The  Elixir" 191 

Introit 20 

Life 1-6 

Man's  Medley 187 

Pulley,  The 19 

Said  I  not  So? 325 

Self-Examination  {The  Church  Porch)     .      .  3 

Virtue 14" 

HERRICK,  ROBERT.   England,  1 591-1674. 

To  His  Saviour,  a  Child 162 

HIGGINSON,  THOMAS   WENTWORTH. 
America.,    i  823- 1 9 1 1 . 
Calm 320 

Publishers:   Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

HOGG,  JAMES.      Scotland,    1— 0-1835. 

Sky-Lark,  The 156 

HOLLAND,  JOSIAH  GILBERT.     America, 
1819-1881. 
Cost  and  Worth  (Bitter-Siceet)     .      .      .      .       171 

Publishers:    Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York. 

HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL.  America, 
1 809- 1 894. 

Childhood  Faith,  The  {Astraea)    .      .      .      .  215 

Hymn  of  Trust 51 

Largeness  of  Truth,  The  {Astraea)      .      .      .  322 

Pluck  {Urania) 222 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 


and   Titles  xxiii 

PAGE 

HOLTY,  LUDWIG  H.  C.    Germany,  1748- 
1776. 
Winter  Song  (Trans,  of  C.  T.  Brooks)  .      .      342 

HOME,  F.  WYVILLE.     Scotland,   1851- 

In  a  September  Night 267 

HOOD,    THOMAS.     England,     1 798-1 845. 

Flowers 164 

Wealth 47 

HORACE  —  QUINTUS     HORATIUS 
FLACCUS.     Rome,  65-8  b.c.   - 
Golden     Mean,    The     (Trans,    of    W.     A. 

Houghton) 190 

HORNE,    RICHARD   HENRY.    England, 
1 803- 1 884. 
Plough,  The 125 

HOUGHTON,    GEORGE.     America,  1850- 
1891. 
Courage 223 

HOUGHTON,     RICHARD     MONCKTON 
MILNES,  LORD.  England,  1809-1885. 
Worth  of  Hours,  The 184 

HOUGHTON,    WILLIAM   ADDISON. 

America,  1852- 

Forefathers,  The 358 

Golden  Mean,  The  (Latin  of  Horace)    .      .      190 
Thoughts  from  Goethe  (God;   Losses;  Life) .  5 

HOWARD,  HENRY,  EARL  OF  SURREY. 
England,  15 16-1547. 
Means  to  Attain  Happy  Life        ....       76 

HOWARTH,      ELLEN      CLEMENTINE. 

America,  1 827-1 899. 
'Tis  But  a  Little  Faded  Flower    ....     285 

HOWITT,     MARY.     England,     1799-1888. 
Use  of  Flowers,  The 139 


xxiv    Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

HOWLAND,  MARY  WOOLSEY.  America, 
i  832- i  864. 
Rest 316 

HOYT,    RALPH.     America,  1 806-1 878. 

Snow.  —  A  Winter  Sketch 8 

HUNT,     LEIGH.     England,  1784- 1850. 

Grasshopper  and  Cricket,  To  the      .      .      .      183 
May  and  the  Poets 132 

HUNTINGTON,    WILLIAM    REED. 
America,  1838-1909. 
Authority 124 

INGALLS,  JOHN  JAMES.   America,  1833- 
1900. 
Opportunity 6 


JOHNSON,  SAMUEL.  America,  1 822-1 882. 

For  Divine  Strength 335 

JONES,    ROSALIE  M.     America. 

Crowded  Out 360 

JORDAN,  D.  M.     America. 

Late  October 287 

KEATS,  JOHN.     England,  1 795-1 821. 

Autumn,  To 294 

Fairy  Song 275 

From  "Fancy" 357 

Moonlight 295 

Pleasant  Lair,  The 193 

Sleep,  To      .                  27 

Spring  Sweetness  (Dedication)      .      .      .      .  135 

Sweet  Forgetting 346 

KEBLE,  JOHN.     England,   1792- 1866. 

Daily  Walk,  The 77 

Evening 302 


and   Titles  xxv 

PAGE 

KEN,    THOMAS.     England,    1637-1711. 

Morning  Hymn 172 

KING,    HARRIET    ELEANOR    HAMIL- 
TON.    Scotland,  1840- 
Crocus,  The 65 

KING,  HENRY.     England,  1592-1669. 

Contemplation  upon  Flowers,  A        ...      138 

KRUMMACHER,     FRIEDRICH    WIL- 
HELM.     Germany,  1 796-1 868. 
Moss  Rose,  The 163 

LANDON,   L^ETITIA  ELIZABETH. 
England,  1802- 1838. 
Success 22 

LANG,  ANDREW.     Scotland,  1844- 

Song  of  the  Clouds  {Greek  oj  Aristophanes)     182 

LARCOM,  LUCY.     America,   1 826-1 893. 

Curtain  of  the  Dark,  The  (Hints) ....      262 
Do  Something 34 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

LAZARUS,    EMMA.     America,    1849- 1847. 

Remember 88 

Publishers:  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

LOGAN,  JOHN.     England,  i  748-1 788. 

To  the  Cuckoo 134 

LONGFELLOW,  HENRY  WADSWORTH. 

America,  1 807-1 882. 

Enriching  Love  (Evangeline) 284 

To  the  Heights  (Ladder  oj  St.  Augustine)      .      149 
Publishers:   Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

LONGFELLOW,  SAMUEL.  America,  1819- 
1892. 
Hymn  of  Winter 58 


xxvi    Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

LOWELL,    JAMES    RUSSELL.     America, 
i 8 1 9- 1 89 1 . 

Dandelion,  To  the 126 

Lincoln  {Harvard  Commemoration  Ode)    .     .  45 

Nature's  Teaching  (Rbaecus) 218 

Patient  Endurance  (Columbus)           .      .      .  298 

Present,  The  {Sphinx) 4 

Sorrow's  Mission  (Death  of  a  Friend's  Child)  52 

Unseen,  The  (A  Mystical  Ballad)       ...  96 

Washington  (Under  the  Elm)        ....  55 
Publishers,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

LYNCH,     THOMAS    TOKE.      England, 
1818-1871. 
Kingdom,  The 107 

LYTTON,    EDWARD    BULWER,    LORD 

(Owen  Meredith) .    England,  1831-1891. 
Influence  (Lucile) 175 

MACDONALD,  GEORGE.    England,  1824- 
1905. 

Fidelity 191 

From  "Light" 181 

Hope  (Within  and  Without) 321 

MACKAY,    CHARLES.     Scotland,     1814- 
1889. 

Early  Blue-Bird,  The 72 

I  Lay  in  Sorrow 326 

Piety  (Egeria) 214 

What  Might  Be  Done 39 

Youth's  Warning 194 

M ALONE,  WALTER.     America,  1866- 

Opportunity 7 

To  an  Enemy 297 

MARSTON,  PHILIP  BOURKE.    England, 

1 850- 1 887. 
Song  of  the  Roses  (Garden  Fairies)    .      .      .     343 


and   Titles  xxvii 

PAGE 

MARTIN,   EDWARD  SANFORD. 

America,  1856- 
Girl  of  Pompeii,  A 318 

Publishers:    Harper  &  Brothers,  Mew  York. 

MARVELL,  ANDREW.     England,  1621- 
1678. 
From  "Thoughts  in  a  Garden"  .      .      .      .      165 

MEREDITH,    GEORGE.     England,    1828- 
1909. 

Song 315 

Unknown,  The  (A  Night  in  Italy)      .      .      .      170 

MIFFLIN,  LLOYD.     America,  1846- 

Milton  (At  the  Gates  0/  Song) 346 

Now  Like  a  Red  Leaf  (At  the  Gates  of  Song)     324 
Publishers:    Dana  Estes  &  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

MILNES,   RICHARD   MONCKTON. 

See  Houghton,  Lord. 

MILTON,  JOHN.     England,    1608-1674. 

Morning  (V Allegro) 133 

On  His  Blindness 299 

MONSELL,  JOHN  S.   B      England,    1811- 

1875.   . 
Spring-Tide  Hour,  The 109 

MONTGOMERY,  JAMES.  Scotland,  1771- 
1854. 
Prayer 263 

MORRIS,     WILLIAM.       England,      1834- 
1896. 
March 63 

NEWMAN,     JOHN     HENRY.      England, 

1 801-1890. 
Flowers  without  Fruit „  283 


xxvifi    Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

OSGOOD,    FRANCES   SARGENT. 
America,  1811-1850. 
Labor  (Laborare  est  Orare) 137 

PARKER,  THEODORE.     America,    1810- 
1860. 

Jesus 50 

Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life,  The  .      .     273 

PAULL,  M.  E.     America. 

Do  the  Next  Thing 311 

PERCIVAL,     JAMES    GATES.     America, 
1 795- 1 856. 
May 154 

POLLOK,  ROBERT.  Scotland,  1 798-1 827. 
Great  Ocean!  (The  Course  of  Time)  .      .      .      225 

POPE,    ALEXANDER.      England,     1688- 

1744. 
Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul,  The       ...       79 
Human  Greatness  (Essay  on  Man)    .      .      .271 

PRESTON,  ANNIE  A.     America. 

The  Green  Grass  under  the  Snow      ...        61 

PROCTER,     ADELAIDE    ANNE. 
England,  1 825-1 864. 

Confido  et  Conquiesco 274 

"In  Everything  Giving  Thanks"       ...  70 

Judge  Not 305 

Per  Pacem  ad  Lucem 30 

QUARLES,      FRANCIS.     England,    1592- 
1644. 
Lord,  I  Have  Lain 308 

RALEIGH,      SIR      WALTER.      England, 
1552-1618. 
His  Pilgrimage 91 


and   Titles  xxix 

PAGE 

RANDS,  WILLIAM  BRIGHTY.   England, 
i  823- i  880. 
Flowers,  The 192 

RANKIN,  JEREMIAH  EAMES.  America, 
1 828- 1 904. 
Babfe,  The 257 

RAYMOND,     ROSSITER     WORTHING- 
TON.    America,  1840- 
Christus  Consolator 80 

REESE,   LIZETTE  WOODWORTH. 
America,  1856- 

Tears 323 

Trust 198 

Publishers:  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

RILEY,   JAMES   WHITCOMB.    America, 

1853- 
Clover,  The 173 

Publishers:    Bobbs-Merrill  Co.,  Indianapolis,  Ind. 

ROLLE,  RICHARD.     England,  abt.  1350. 

Joyes  of  Hevene 87 

ROSSETTI,     CHRISTINA     GEORGINA. 
England,  1830- 1894. 

Face  the  Future  {Later  Life) 12 

Remember  Me 84 

ROSSETTI,     DANTE      GABRIEL. 
England,  1 828-1 882. 

Heart  of  the  Night,  The 29 

Superscription,  A 14 

ROYDEN,    MATTHEW.      England,     abt. 
1586. 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  (Elegy) 345 

SACKVILLE,       CHARLES,       EARL    OF 
DORSET.     England,  1 637-1 709. 
Fire  of  Love,  The  {Examen  Miscellaneum)     .     348 


xxx      Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

SALIS,   JOHANN    GANDIS    VON. 
Germany,  i  762-1834. 
Song  of  the  Silent  Land  (Trans.  0/  H.  W. 
Longfellow) 128 

SANTAYANA,     GEORGE.     Spain,     1863. 
Lives  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Faith 169 

Publishers:     Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York. 

SAVAGE,     MI  NOT     JUDSON.     America, 
1841- 
Light  on  the  Cloud 257 

SAXBY,     JANE     EUPHEMIA.     England, 
181F-? 

Show  Me  the  Way 102 

SAXTON,     ANDREW     BICE.       America, 
1856- 
Who  Gather  Gold 140 

Publishers:    The  Century  Co.,  New  York. 

SCOLLARD,    CLINTON.     America,    1860- 
Faiths  (Chords  of  the  Zither) 363 

Publisher:    G.  W.  Browning,  Clinton,  New  York. 

SCOTT,  FREDERICK  GEORGE.    Canada, 
1861- 

A  Psalm  of  Praise 287 

Van  Elsen 272 

SCUDDER,   ELIZA.     America,    1821-1896. 

Love  of  God,  The 199 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

SHAIRP,  JOHN  CAMPBELL.     Scotland, 
1819-1885. 

Love's  Sure  Hold 253 

Wait  on  the  Lord 49 

SHAKESPEARE,    WILLIAM.       England, 

1564-1616. 

Body  and  Soul 213 

Shepherd  and  King  (Henry  VI,  Pt.  Ill)    .        69 


and   Titles  xxxi 


PAGE 

SHELLEY,    PERCY    BYSSHE.     England, 

i 792- 1 822. 

Invitation,  The  (To  Jane) 62 

Nature's  Gladness  (To  a  Sky-Lark)  .      .      .      178 
Winter  (The  Sensitive  Plant) 9 

SHIRLEY,  JAMES.      England,  1594- 1666. 
Death  the  Leveller 78 

SIDNEY,    SIR    PHILIP.    England,    1554- 
1586. 

Aspiration 177 

Desire 17 

SILL,     EDWARD    ROWLAND.     America, 
1 841-1887. 

Prayer,  A 211 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

SMITH,  ALEXANDER.     Scotland,    1829- 
1867. 
Love 185 

SMITH,    HORACE.     England,    1 779-1 849. 

Moral  Cosmetics 38 

SMITH,      ISAAC     GREGORY.     England, 
1826- 
Evening  and  Morning 151 

SMITH,  LUCY.     England,   1841- 

"My  Sorrow  Is  My  Throne"       ....        86 

SOUTHEY,     ROBERT.      England,     1774- 
1843. 
Harvest  of  Love,  The  (Curse  0/  Kehama)     .      366 

SOUTHWELL,  ROBERT.    England,  1560- 
1595. 

Times  Go  by  Turns 290 

Loss  in  Delay 11 


xxxii    Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

SPENSER,     EDMUND.     England,     1553- 

1599. 
Easter 112 

Ministering  Angels 307 

Sweet  is  the  Rose  {Faerie  Queene)    ...       92 

SPOFFORD,       HARRIET        PRESCOTT. 
America,  1835— 
Snowdrop,  A 64 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

STERLING,   JOHN.     England,  1806- 1844. 

Calm  Divine,  The  (Hymn  of  a  Hermit)  .      .      249 
Morning  Hymn 122 

STOWE,  HARRIET  BEECHER.    America, 
181 2-1 896. 

Life's  Mystery 119 

Other  World,  The 129 

Still,  Still  with  Thee 143 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

SUTTON,     HENRY     SEPTIMUS. 
England. 
Beauty  of  Life,  The 37 

SWAIN,  CHARLES.     England,  1803-1874. 
Take  the  World  as  It  Is 291 

SWINBURNE,     ALGERNON    CHARLES. 
England,  1837-1909. 
Coming  of  Spring,  The  (Atalanta  in  Calydon)      1 06 
The  Flower  of  their  Souls  (To  Barny  Corn- 
wall)     60 

Hope  and  Fear 13 

SYLVESTER,   JOSHUA.    England,    1563- 
1618. 
Contentment 231 

SYMONDS,    JOHN    ADDINGTON. 
England,  1 840-1 893. 

Beati  I  Hi 210 

Lux  Est  Umbra  Dei 352 


and   Titles  xxxiii 

PAGE 

TALFOURD,  SIR  THOMAS  NOON. 
England,  1795- 1854. 

Human  Sympathy 327 

TATE,  NAHUM.  England,  1653-1715; 
and  BRADY,  NICHOLAS.  England, 
1 659- 1 726. 

As  Pants  the  Hart 236 

TAYLOR,    BAYARD.   America,  1825-1878. 

December 338 

Wind  and  Sea 144 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

TENNYSON,  ALFRED,  LORD.   England, 

1 809-1 892. 

Bells  of  Yule  (In  Memoriam) 361 

Blossoming  Spring  (In  Memoriam)    ...  95 

Brook's  Reply,  The  (The  Brook) ....  250 

Enid's  Song  (Idylls  of  the  King)      ...  25 

Evening  and  Morning  Star  (In  Memoriam)  241 

Fallen  Tower,  The  (Ode:  Duke  of  Wellington)  261 

Grand  Old  Name,  The  (In  Memoriam)  .      .  344 


(In 


130 
35i 

195 
93 
85 

131 

114 
108 


Larger  Hope,  The  (In  Memoriam) 

Old  Letters  (In  Memoriam)  . 

O  Yet  We  Trust  That  Somehow  Good 
Memoriam) 

Prayer  (The  Passing  of  Arthur) 

Spirit  Visitants  (In  Memoriam)  . 

Strong  Son  of  God  (In  Memoriam)    . 

Sweet  after  Showers  (In  Memoriam) 

Throstle,  The 

THACKERAY,   WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE. 
England,  1811-1863. 

Peace  On  Earth!    (The  End  of  the  Play)       .     367 
THOMSON,  JAMES.   Scotland,  1700-1748. 

Sunrise  (The  Seasons) 150 

TOWNSEND,  MARY  ASHLEY.    America, 
1832- 
Woman's  Wish,  A 167 

Publishers:  J.  B.  Lippincott  Co.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


xxxfv  Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

TRENCH,   RICHARD  CHEVENIX. 
England,   1807- 1886. 

Appointed  Way,  The 44 

Beauty's  Sadness 289 

Patience 127 

Prayer 301 

Rooted  in  Love 146 

TURNER,  CHARLES  TENNYSON. 
England,  1808- 1879. 

Christ  Longed  For 226 

Forest  Glade,  The 200 

Harvest  Hours 278 

Lattice  at  Sunrise,  The 158 

Orion 26 

VAUGHAN,  HENRY.  England,  1 621-1695. 

Day  of  Judgment,  The 242 

Divine  Refreshing 300 

Peace 99 

Retirement 246 

Rules  and  Lessons 74 

Seed  Growing  Secretly 115 

Water-Fall,  From  The 101 

VERY,  JONES.     America. 

Prayer,  The 148 

Publishers:   Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

WALLER,     EDMUND.       England,     1605- 
1687. 
On  His  Divine  Poems 339 

WASSON,  DAVID  A.     America,  1847- 

Spread  Sail  (Seen  and  Unseen)     ....        83 

WATTS,  ISAAC.     England,   1674-1749- 

Praise  to  the  Creator 196 

Summer  Evening,  A 229 

Sure  Defence,  The 32 

WEIR,  HARRISON.     England,  1824- 

English  Robin,  The 73 


and   Titles  xxxv 

PAGE 

WESLEY,    CHARLES.      England,      1708- 
1788. 
Hymn  for  the  New  Year 368 

WHITE,  JOSEPH  BLANCO.     Spain,  1775- 
England,  1 84 1. 
Night:  Death 186 

WHITMAN,  WALT.     America,  18 19-1892. 

City,  The  (Give  Me  the  Splendid  Silent  Sun)  265 

Individual  Soul,  The  (Calamus)  .       .      .      .  145 

Nature   (Give  Me  the  Splendid  Silent  Sun)  264 

Publishers:    Small,  Maynard  &  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

WHITTIER,    JOHN    GREENLEAF. 
America,  1 807-1 892. 

Centennial  Hymn 188 

First-Day  Thoughts 174 

His  Love  and  Care  (The  Eternal  Goodness)  293 

Life,  Lord  of  Death  (Snow-Bound)    ...  53 

Nature's  Hymns  (Tent  on  the  Beach)       .      .  234 

Old  and  the  New,  The 153 

Pictures  of  Our  Past  (Raphael) ....  279 

Progress  Eternal  (The  Reformer) .       ...  90 

Questions  (My  Soul  and  I) 310 

Publishers:    Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

WHITWORTH,   WILLIAM   HENRY. 
England,  19TH  Cent. 
Time  and  Death     ........        31 

WILCOX,  CARLOS.     America,   1 794-1 827. 

God  Everywhere  in  Nature 233 

WILLARD,     EMMA     HART.      America, 
1 787- 1 870. 
Rocked  in  the  Cradle  of  the  Deep     .      .      .     269 

WILSON,  JOHN  (Christopher  North). 
Scotland,   1785- 1854. 

Evening  Cloud,  The 277 

Sacred  Poetry 21 


xxxvi    Index  of  Authors 

PAGE 

WITHER,      GEORGE.      England,     1588- 
1667. 
Evening  Hymn,  An 142 

WOODS,  MARGARET  L.     England. 

Rest 205 

WORDSWORTH,    WILLIAM.      England, 

1770-1850. 
Autumn   of  Life,  The    (Intimation  of  Im- 
mortality)   337 

Daffodils 123 

Ever  True,  The 252 

Good  Conscience,  The   (Excursion) ...  23 
Nature's      Monitions       (Devotional      Incite- 
ments)          121 

Nature's   Tranquillity  (Tintern  Abbey).      .  197 

Poet,  The 141 

Sea-Shell,  The  (Excursion) 224 

Sky-Lark,  To  the  .      . 168 

Spirit  World,  The   (Laodomia)    ....  306 

WOTTON,  SIR  HENRY.     England,  1568- 
1639. 
Happy  Life,  The 254 

XAVIER,   ST.    FRANCIS.     France,    1506- 
1552. 
"My  God  I  Love  Thee"  (Trans.  0/  E.  Cas- 
wall) 71 

YOUNG,  EDWARD.    England,  1684-1765. 

Procrastination  (Nigbt  Thoughts)       ...        10 


Daily   Song 


B 


January  1 


SELF-EXAMINATION 


FROM       THE    CHURCH    PORCH 


*Y  all  means  use  sometimes  to  be  alone. 

Salute  thyself:  see  what  thy  soul  doth  wear. 

Dare  to  look  in  thy  chest;  for  'tis  thine  own; 

And  tumble  up  and  down  what  thou  find'st  there. 
Who  cannot  rest  till  he  good  fellows  find, 
He  breaks  up  house,  turns  out  of  doores  his  mind. 

Sum  up  at  night   what  thou  hast  done  by  day; 
And  in  the  morning,  what  thou  hast  to  do. 
Dress  and  undress  thy  soul:  mark  the  decay 
And  growth  of  it:  if  with  thy  watch  that  too 
Be  down,  then  wind  up  both;  since  we  shall  be 
•Most  surely  judged,   make  thy  accounts  agree. 

In  brief,  acquit  thee  bravely;  play  the  man, 

Look  not  on  pleasures  as  they  come,  but  go. 

Defer  not  the  least  virtue;  life's  poor  span 

Make  not  an  ell,  by  trifling  in  thy  wo. 
If  thou  do  ill,  the  joy  fades,  not  the  pains: 
If  well,  the  pain  doth  fade,  the  joy  remains. 

George  Herbert 


w. 


Jan uary  2 


THE   PRESENT 


FROM        SPHINX 


HY  mourn  we  for  the  golden  prime 
When  our  young  souls  were  kingly,  strong,  and  true? 

The  soul  is  greater  than  all  time, 
It  changes  not,  but  yet  is  ever  new. 

But  that  the  soul  is  noble,  we 
Could  never  know  what  nobleness  had  been; 

Be  what  ye  dream!  and  earth  shall  see 
A  greater  greatness  than  she  e'er  hath  seen. 

Nothing  in  Nature  weeps  its  lot, 
Nothing,  save  man,  abides  in  memory, 

Forgetful  that  the  Past  is  what 
Ourselves  may  choose  the  coming  time  to  be. 

There  is  no  heart-beat  in  the  day, 
Which  bears  a  record  of  the  smallest  deed, 

But  holds  within  its  faith  alway 
That  which  in  doubt  we  vainly  strive  to  read. 

God  bless  the  Present!   it  is  all; 
It  has  been  Future,  and  it  shall  be  Past; 

Awake  and  live!   thy  strength  recall, 
And  in  one  trinity  unite  them  fast. 

James  Russell  Lowell 


January   3 

THOUGHTS   FROM  GOETHE 

GOD 

W  HAT  were  a  God  outside  creation  dwelling 
Its  motion  by  His  outward  touch  compelling? 
Nay,  God  within  informs  and  stirs  all  nature, 
And  in  Him  lives  and  moves  His  every  creature; 
And  since  all  things  within  Him  live  and  move, 
Forevermore  they  feel  His  power  and  love. 

LOSSES 

Pelf  hast  thou  lost?     'Tis  something  lost; 
Thou  must  begin  anew  to  win. 
Is  honor  lost?     Too  much  is  lost; 
Yet  glory  gain,  wipe  out  the  stain! 
Is  courage  lost?     Then  all  is  lost! 
And  life  itself  not  worth  the  cost. 


Wouldst  thou  mark  out  a  life  of  joy? 
Let  not  the  past  thy  soul  annoy; 
Let  not  thy  losses  give  thee  trouble, 
But  rather  eager  zeal  redouble. 

Each  day's  demands  with  courage  ask; 
Each  day  will  set  its  stated  task; 
And  if  success  bring  thee  delight, 
Allow  thy  neighbor  equal  right. 

Above  all,  see  thou  no  man  hate, 
And  early  serve  thy  God,  and  late. 

Trans,  of  William  Addison  Houghton 


January   4 


OPPORTUNITY 


M 


ASTER  of  human  destinies  am  I. 
Fame,  love,  and  fortune  on  my  footsteps  wait. 
Cities  and  fields  I  penetrate, 
Deserts  and  seas  remote;   and  passing  by 
Hovel,  and  mart,  and  palace  —  soon  or  late 
I  knock  unbidden  once  at  every  gate! 

If  sleeping,  wake;  if  feasting,  rise  before 

I  turn  away.     It  is  the  hour  of  fate, 

And  they  who  follow  me  reach  every  state 

Mortals  desire,  and  conquer  every  foe 

Save  death;  but  those  who  doubt  or  hesitate, 

Condemned  to  failure,  penury,  and  woe, 

Seek  me  in  vain,  and  uselessly  implore. 

I  answer  not,  and  I  return  no  more! 

John  James  Ingalls 


January   5 


OPPORTUNITY 

J.  HEY  do  me  wrong  who  say  I  come  no  more 
When  once  I  knock  and  fail  to  find  you  in; 
For  every  day  I  stand  outside  your  door, 

And  bid  you  wake,  and  rise  to  fight  and  win. 

Wail  not  for  precious  chances  passed  away, 
Weep  not  for  golden  ages  on  the  wane! 

Each  night  I  burn  the  records  of  the  day  — 
At  sunrise  every  soul  is  born  again! 

Laugh  like  a  boy  at  splendors  that  have  sped, 
To  vanished  joys  be  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb; 

My  judgments  seal  the  dead  past  with  its  dead, 
But  never  bind  a  moment  yet  to  come. 

Though  deep  in  mire,  wring  not  your  hands  and 
weep; 

I  lend  my  arm  to  all  who  say  "I  can." 
No  shame-faced  outcast  ever  sank  so  deep, 

But  yet  might  rise  and  be  again  a  man! 

Dost  thou  behold  thy  lost  youth  all  aghast? 

Dost  reel  from  righteous  Retribution's  blow? 
Then  turn  from  blotted  archives  of  the  past, 

And  find  the  future's  pages  white  as  snow. 

Art  thou  a  mourner?   Rouse  thee  from  thy  spell; 

Art  thou  a  sinner?     Sins  may  be  forgiven; 
Each  morning  gives  thee  wings  to  flee  from  hell, 

Each  night  a  star  to  guide  thy  feet  to  heaven. 

Walter  Malone 


8  J  anu  ar  y   6 


SNOW  — A  WINTER  SKETCH 

X  HE  blessed  morn  has  come  again; 

The  early  gray 
Taps  at  the  slumberer's  window-pane, 

And  seems  to  say, 
Break,  break  from  the  enchanter's  chain 

Away,  away! 

'Tis  winter,  yet  there  is  no  sound 

Along  the  air 
Of  winds  along  their  battle-ground; 

But  gently  there 
The  snow  is  falling,  —  all  around 

How  fair,  how  fair! 

Ralph  Hoyt 


January   7 


WINTER 

FROM    "THE    SENSITIVE    PLANT " 

J/  OR  winter  came:   the  wind  was  his  whip: 
One  choppy  finger  was  on  his  lip: 
He  had  torn  the  cataracts  from  the  hills 
And  they  clankt  at  his  girdle  like  manacles; 

His  breath  was  a  chain  which  without  a  sound 
The  earth,  and  the  air,  and  the  water  bound; 
He  came,  fiercely  driven  in  his  chariot-throne 
By  the  tenfold  blasts  of  the  Arctic  zone. 

For  the  leaves  soon  fell,  and  the  branches  soon 
By  the  heavy  axe  of  the  blast  were  hewn; 
The  sap  shrank  to  the  root  thro'  every  pore, 
As  blood  to  a  heart  that  will  beat  no  more. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 


io  J  anu  ar  y   8 


B. 


PROCRASTINATION 


FROM        NIGHT    THOUGHTS 


E  wise  to-day:    'tis  madness  to  defer; 
Next  day  the  fatal  precedent  will  plead; 
Thus  on,  till  wisdom  is  push'd  out  of  life. 
Procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time; 
Year  after  year  it  steals  till  all  are  fled, 
And  to  the  mercies  of  a  moment  leaves 
The  vast  concerns  of  an  eternal  scene. 
If  not  so  frequent,  would  not  this  be  strange? 
That  'tis  so  frequent,  this  is  stranger  still. 
Of  man's  miraculous  mistakes,  this  bears 
The  palm,  "That  all  men  are  about  to  live"  — 
For  ever  on  the  brink  of  being  born. 
All  pay  themselves  the  compliment  to  think 
They  one  day  shall  not  drivel:   and  their  pride 
On  this  reversion  takes  up  ready  praise; 
At  least,  their  own;   their  future  selves  applaud. 
How  excellent  that  life  —  they  ne'er  will  lead! 
Time  lodged  in  their  own  hands  is  folly's  vails, 
That  lodged  in  fate's  to  wisdom  they  consign; 
The  thing  they  can't  but  purpose,  they  postpone. 
'Tis  not  in  folly,  not  to  scorn  a  fool; 
And  scarce  in  human  wisdom,  to  do  more. 
All  promise  is  poor  dilatory  man. 

Edward  Young 


J anu ar y   9  1 1 


LOSS   IN   DELAY 

i^HUN  delays,  they  breed  remorse; 

Take  thy  time  while  time  is  lent  thee; 
Creeping  snails  have  weakest  force, 

Fly  their  fault  lest  thou  repent  thee. 
Good  is  best  when  soonest  wrought 
Linger'd  labors  come  to  nought. 

Hoist  up  sail  while  gale  doth  last, 

Tide  and  wind  stay  no  man's  pleasure; 

Seek  not  time  when  time  is  past, 
Sober  speed  is  wisdom's  leisure. 

After-wits  are  dearly  bought, 

Let  thy  forewit  guide  thy  thought. 

Time  wears  all  his  locks  before, 

Take  thy  hold  on  his  forehead; 
When  he  flies  he  turns  no  more, 

And  behind  his  scalp  's  naked. 
Works  adjourn'd  have  many  stays, 
Long  demurs  breed  new  delays. 

Crush  the  serpent  in  the  head, 

Break  ill  eggs  ere  they  be  hatch'd; 

Kill  bad  chickens  in  the  tread, 

Fledged,  they  hardly  can  be  catch'd. 

In  the  rising  stifle  ill, 

Lest  it  grow  against  thy  will. 

Robert  Southwell 


12  January   10 


FACE  THE   FUTURE 


W 


LATER    LIFE 


E  lack,  yet  cannot  fix  upon  the  lack: 
Not  this,  nor  that;   yet  somewhat,  certainly. 
We  see  the  things  we  do  not  yearn  to  see 
Around  us:   and  what  see  we  glancing  back? 
Lost  hopes  that  leave  our  hearts  upon  the  rack, 
Hopes  that  were  never  ours  yet  seem'd  to  be, 
For  which  we  steer'd  on  life's  salt  stormy  sea 
Braving  the  sunstroke  and  the  frozen  pack. 
If  thus  to  look  behind  is  all  in  vain, 
And  all  in  vain  to  look  to  left  or  right, 
Why  face  we  not  our  future  once  again, 
Launching  with  hardier  hearts  across  the  main, 
Straining  dim  eyes  to  catch  the  invisible  sight, 
And  strong  to  bear  ourselves  in  patient  pain? 

■     Christina  Georgixa  Rossetti 


J  anu  ar  y   1 1  13 


HOPE  AND   FEAR 

J3ENEATH  the  shadow  of  dawn's  aerial  cope, 
With  eyes  enkindled  as  the  sun's  own  sphere, 
Hope,  from  the  front  of  youth  in  godlike  cheer, 
Looks  Godward,  past  the  shades  where  blind  men 

grope 
Round  the  dark  door  that  prayers  nor  dreams  can 

ope, 
And  makes  for  joy  the  very  darkness  dear, 
That  gives  her  wide  wings  play;    nor  dreams  that 

fear 
At  noon  may  rise  and  pierce  the  heart  of  hope. 
Then,  when  the  soul  leaves  off  to  dream  and  yearn, 
May  truth  first  purge  her  eyesight  to  discern 
What  once  being  known  leaves  time  no  power  to 

appal; 
Till  youth  at  last,  ere  yet  youth  be  not,  learn 
The  kind  wise  word  that  falls  from  years  that  fall  — 
"Hope  thou  not  much,  and  fear  thou  not  at  all." 
Algernon  Charles  Swinburne 


14  January   12 


A  SUPERSCRIPTION 

I    vOOK  in  my  face;  my  name  is  Might-have-been; 
I  am  also  calPd  No-more,  Too-late,  Farewell; 
Unto  thine  ear  I  hold  the  dead-sea  shell 
Cast  up  thy  Life's  foam-fretted  feet  between; 
Unto  thine  eyes  the  glass  where  that  is  seen 
Which  had  Life's  form  and  Love's,  but  by  my  spell 
Is  now  a  shaken  shadow  intolerable, 
Of  ultimate  things  unutter'd  the  frail  screen. 
Mark  me,  how  still  I  am!     But  should  there  dart 
One  moment  through  thy  soul  the  soft  surprise 
Of  that   wing'd    Peace   which   lulls   the   breath    of 

sighs,  — 
Then  shalt  thou  see  me  smile,  and  turn  apart 
Thy  visage  to  mine  ambush  at  thy  heart 
Sleepless  with  cold  commemorative  eyes. 

Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 


January   13 


THE   INEVITABLE 

X   LIKE  the  man  who  faces  what  he  must 

With  step  triumphant  and  a  heart  of  cheer; 

Who  fights  the  daily  battle  without  fear; 

Sees  his  hopes  fail,  yet  keeps  unfaltering  trust 

That  God  is  God,  —  that  somehow,  true  and  just 

His  plans  work  out  for  mortals;   not  a  tear 

Is  shed  when  fortune,  which  the  world  holds  dear, 

Falls  from  his  grasp  —  better,  with  love,  a  crust 

Than  living  in  dishonor;   envies  not, 

Nor  loses  faith  in  man;   but  does  his  best, 

Nor  ever  murmurs  at  his  humbler  lot; 

But,  with  a  smile  and  words  of  hope,  gives  zest 

To  every  toiler.     He  alone  is  great 

Who  by  a  life  heroic  conquers  fate. 

Sarah  Knowles  Bolton 


16  January   14 


PRAYER 


B. 


E  not  afraid  to  pray  —  to  pray  is  right. 
Pray,  if  thou  canst,  with  hope;   but  ever  pray, 
Though  hope  be  weak,  or  sick  with  long  delay; 
Pray  in  the  darkness,  if  there  be  no  light. 
Far  is  the  time,  remote  from  human  sight, 
When  war  and  discord  on  the  earth  shall  cease; 
Yet  every  prayer  for  universal  peace 
Avails  the  blessed  time  to  expedite. 
Whate'er  is  good  to  wish,  ask  that  of  Heaven, 
Though  it  be  what  thou  canst  not  hope  to  see: 
Pray  to  be  perfect,  though  material  leaven 
Forbid  the  spirit  so  on  earth  to  be; 
But  if  for  any  wish  thou  darest  not  pray, 
Then  pray  to  God  to  cast  that  wish  away. 

Hartley  Coleridge 


January   15  17 


DESIRE 

JL  HOU  blind  man's  mark,  thou  fool's  self-chosen 
snare, 
Fond  fancy's  scum,  and  dregs  of  scattered  thought: 
Band  of  all  evils;   cradle  of  causeless  care; 
Thou  web  of  will,  whose  end  is  never  wrought: 
Desire!     Desire!     I  have  too  dearly  bought, 
With  price  of  mangled  mind,  thy  worthless  ware; 
Too  long,  too  long,  asleep  thou  hast  me  brought, 
Who  should  my  mind  to  higher  things  prepare. 
But  yet  in  vain  thou  hast  my  ruin  sought; 
In  vain  thou  mad'st  me  to  vain  things  aspire; 
In  vain  thou  kindlest  all  thy  smoky  fire; 
For  Virtue  hath  this  better  lesson  taught,  —  • 
Within  myself  to  seek  my  only  hire, 
Desiring  nought  but  how  to  kill  Desire. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney 


18  January   16 


A    GOOD    THAT    NEVER    SATISFIES    THE 
MIND 


A 


GOOD  that  never  satisfies  the  mind, 
A  beauty  fading  like  the  April  flow'rs, 
A  sweet  with  floods  of  gall,  that  runs  combin'd 
A  pleasure  passing  ere  in  thought  made  ours, 
An  honour  that  more  fickle  is  than  wind, 
A  glory  at  opinion's  frown  that  Iow'rs, 
A  treasury  which  bankrupt  time  devours, 
A  knowledge  than  grave  ignorance  more  blind, 
A  vain  delight  our  equals  to  command, 
A  style  of  greatness,  in  effect  a  dream 
A  swelling  thought  of  holding  sea  and  land, 
A  servile  lot,  deck'd  with  a  pompous  name, 
dLre  the  strange  ends  we  toil  for  here  below, 
Till  wisest  death  make  us  our  errors  know. 

William  Drummond 


J  anu  ar  y   1  7  19 


THE  PULLEY 

W  HEN  God  at  first  made  Man, 
Having  a  glass  of  blessings  standing  by, 
"Let  us,"  said  He,  "pour  on  him  all  we  can; 
Let  the  world's  riches,  which  dispersed  lie, 
Contract  into  a  span." 

So  strength  first  made  a  way; 
Then  beauty  flow'd,  then  wisdom,  honour,  pleasure: 
When  almost  all  was  out,  God  made  a  stay, 
Perceiving  that,  alone  of  all  His  treasure, 

Rest  in  the  bottom  lay. 

"For  if  I  should,"  said  He, 
"Bestow  this  jewel  also  on  My  creature, 
He  would  adore  My  gifts  instead  of  Me, 
And  rest  in  Nature,  not  the  God  of  Nature; 

So  both  should  losers  be. 

"Yet  let  him  keep  the  rest, 
But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessness; 
Let  him  be  rich  and  weary,  that  at  least, 
If  goodness  lead  him  not,  yet  weariness 

May  toss  him  to  My  breast." 

George  Herbert 


20  January   18 


INTROIT 


M- 


Y  God,  where    is   that  ancient  heat  towards 
Thee 

Wherewith  whole  shoals  of  martyrs  once  did  burn, 
Besides  their  other  flames?     Doth  poetry 

Wear  Venus'  livery?   only  serve  her  turn? 
Why  are  not  sonnets  made  of  Thee?  and  lays 

Upon  Thine  altar  burnt?     Cannot  Thy  love 
Heighten  a  spirit  to  sound  out  Thy  praise 

As  well  as  any  She?     Cannot  Thy  Dove 
Outstrip  their  Cupid  easily  in  flight? 

Or,  since  Thy  ways  are  deep,  and  still  the  same, 

Will  not  a  verse  run  smooth  that  bears  Thy  name? 
Why  doth  that  fire,  which  by  Thy  power  and  might 

Each  breast  does  feel,  no  braver  fuel  choose 

Than  that,   which  one  day  worms  may  chance 
refuse?  George  Herbert 


January   19  21 


SACRED   POETRY 

X~10W  beautiful  is  genius  when  combined 
With  holiness!     Oh,  how  divinely  sweet 
The  tones  of  earthly  harp,  whose  chords  are  touch'd 
By  the  soft  hand  of  Piety,  and  hung 
Upon  Religion's  shrine,  there  vibrating 
With  solemn  music  in  the  ear  of  God. 
And  must  the  Bard  from  sacred  themes  refrain? 
Sweet  were  the  hymns  in  patriarchal  days, 
That,  kneeling  in  the  silence  of  his  tent, 
Or  on  some  moonlit  hill,  the  shepherd  pour'd 
Unto  his  heavenly  Father.     Strains  survive 
Erst  chanted  to  the  lyre  of  Israel, 
More  touching  far  than  ever  poet  breathed 
Amid  the  Grecian  isles,  or  later  times 
Have  heard  in  Albion,  land  of  every  lay. 
Why  therefore  are  ye  silent,  ye  who  know 
The  trance  of  adoration,  and  behold 
Upon  your  bended  knees  the  throne  of  Heaven, 
And  Him  who  sits  thereon?     Believe  it  not, 
That  Poetry,  in  purer  days  the  nurse, 
Yea,  parent  oft  of  blissful  piety, 
Should  silent  keep  from  service  of  her  God.  .  .  . 
John  Wilson  (Christopher  North) 


22  January   20 


SUCCESS 

J/  EW  know  of  life's  beginnings  —  men  behold 

The  goal  achieved;  —  the  warrior,  when  his  sword 

Flashes  red  triumph  in  the  noonday  sun; 

The  poet,  when  his  lyre  hangs  on  the  palm: 

The  statesman,  when  the  crowd  proclaim  his  voice, 

And  mould  opinion  on  his  gifted  tongue: 

They  count  not  life's  first  steps,  and  never  think 

Upon  the  many  miserable  hours 

When  hope  deferred  was  sickness  to  the  heart. 

They  reckon  not  the  battle  and  the  march, 

The  long  privations  of  a  wasted  youth; 

They  never  see  the  banner  till  unfurled. 

What  are  to  them  the  solitary  nights 

Passed  pale  and  anxious  by  the  sickly  lamp, 

Till  the  young  poet  wins  the  world  at  last 

To  listen  to  the  music  long  his  own? 

The  crowd  attend  the  statesman's  fiery  mind 

That  makes  their  destiny;   but  they  do  not  trace 

Its  struggle,  or  its  long  expectancy. 

Hard  are  life's  early  steps;   and,  but  that  youth 

Is  buoyant,  confident,  and  strong  in  hope, 

Men  would  behold  its  threshold,  and  despair. 

L.etitia  Elizabeth  Laxdox 


J anu  ary  2 1  23 


THE  GOOD  CONSCIENCE 

FROM    "THE    EXCURSION" 


Wi 


HAT  then  remains?     To  seek 
Those  helps,  for  his  occasions  ever  near 
Who  lacks  not  will  to  use  them;   vows  renewed 
On  the  first  motion  of  a  holy  thought; 
Vigils  of  contemplation;   praise  and  prayer,  — 
A  stream  which,  from  the  fountain  of  the  heart 
Issuing,  however  feebly,  nowhere  flows 
Without  access  of  unexpected  strength. 
But,  above  all,  the  victory  is  most  sure 
For  him  who,  seeking  faith  by  virtue,  strives 
To  yield  entire  submission  to  the  law 
Of  conscience,  —  conscience  reverenced  and  obeyed, 
As  God's  most  intimate  presence  in  the  soul 
And  his  most  perfect  image  in  the  world. 
Endeavor  thus  to  live;   these  rules  regard; 
These  helps  solicit;   and  a  steadfast  seat 
Shall  then  be  yours  among  the  happy  few 
Who  dwell  on  earth,  yet  breathe  empyreal  air, 
Sons  of  the  morning.  William  Wordsworth 


24  J  an  u  ar  y  2  2 


INVICTUS 

TO    R.    T.    H.    B. 


o 


UT  of  the  night  that  covers  me, 
Black  as  the  Pit  from  pole  to  pole, 
I  thank  whatever  gods  there  be 
For  my  unconquerable  soul. 

In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 

I  have  not  winced  or  cried  aloud. 
Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance 
My  head  is  bloody,  but  unbow'd. 

Beyond  this  place  of  wrath  and  tears 
Looms  but  the  Horror  of  the  Shade, 

And  yet  the  menace  of  the  years 
Finds  and  shall  find  me  unafraid. 

It  matters  not  how  strait  the  gate, 

How  charged  with  punishments  the  scroll, 

I  am  the  master  of  my  fate, 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul. 

William  Ernest  Henley 


January   23  25 


ENID'S  SONG 

FROM    "IDYLS    OF    THE    KING" 

X  URN,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  and  lower  the 

proud; 
Turn  thy  wild  wheel  through  sunshine,  storm,  and 

cloud; 
Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  hate. 

Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  with  smile  or  frown; 
With  that  wild  wheel  we  go  not  up  or  down; 
Our  hoard  is  little,  but  our  hearts  are  great. 

Smile  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  many  lands; 
Frown  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  our  own  hands; 
For  man  is  man  and  master  of  his  fate. 

Turn,  turn  thy  wheel  above  the  staring  crowd; 
Thy  wheel  and  thou  are  shadows  in  the  cloud; 
Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  hate. 

Alfred  Tennyson 


26  January  24 


THE  CHEERFUL  HEART 

"HP 

_£  HE  world  is  ever  as  we  take  it, 
And  life,  dear  child,  is  what  we  make  it." 

Thus  spoke  a  grandam,  bent  with  care, 
To  little  Mabel,  flushed  and  fair. 

But  Mabel  took  no  heed  that  day 
Of  what  she  heard  her  grandam  say. 

Years  after,  when  no  more  a  child, 
Her  path  in  life  seemed  dark  and  wild. 

Back  to  her  heart  the  memory  came 
Of  the  quaint  utterance  of  the  dame: 

She  cleared  her  brow,  and  smiling  thought, 
"'Tis  even  as  the  good  soul  taught! 

"And  half  my  woes  thus  quickly  cured, 
The  other  half  may  be  endured." 

No  more  her  heart  its  shadows  wore; 
She  grew  a  little  child  once  more. 


She  made  of  life  (as  we,  too,  should) 
A  joy;   and  Io!   all  things  were  good 

And  fair  to  her  as  in  God's  sight 
When  first  he  said,  "Let  there  be  light. 
The  Humbler  Poets 


January   25  27 


TO  SLEEP 


O 


SOFT  embalmer  of  the  still  midnight! 

Shutting  with  careful  fingers  and  benign 
Our  gloom-pleased  eyes,  embower'd  from  the  light, 

Enshaded  in  forgetfulness  divine; 
O  soothest  Sleep !   if  so  it  please  thee,  close, 

In  midst  of  this  thine  hymn,  my  willing  eyes, 
Or  wait  the  amen,  ere  thy  poppy  throws 

Around  my  bed  its  lulling  charities; 

Then  save  me,  or  the  passed  day  will  shine 
Upon  my  pillow,  breeding  many  woes; 
Save  me  from  curious  conscience,  that  still  lords 

Its  strength  for  darkness,  burrowing  like  a  mole; 
Turn  the  key  deftly  in  the  oiled  wards, 

And  seal  the  hushed  casket  of  my  soul. 

John  Keats 


28  January  26 


ORION 


H 


,OW  oft  I've  watch'd  thee  from  the  garden  croft, 
In  silence,  when  the  busy  day  was  done, 
Shining  with  wondrous  brilliancy  aloft, 
And  flickering  like  a  casement  'gainst  the  sun! 
I've  seen  thee  soar  from  out  some  snowy  cloud, 
Which  held  the  frozen  breath  of  land  and  sea, 
Yet  broke  and  sever'd  as  the  wind  grew  loud  — 
But  earth-bound  winds  could  not  dismember  thee, 
Nor  shake  thy  frame  of  jewels;    I  have  guess'd 
At  thy  strange  shape  and  function,  haply  felt 
The  charm  of  that  old  myth  about  thy  belt 
And  sword;   but,  most,  my  spirit  was  possess'd 
By  His  great  Presence,  Who  is  never  far 
From  his  light-bearers,  whether  man  or  star. 

Charles  Tennyson  Turner 


January  27  29 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  NIGHT 

J/  ROM  child  to  youth;    from  youth  to  arduous 
man; 

From  lethargy  to  fever  of  the  heart; 

From  faithful  life  to  dream-dowered  days  apart; 
From  trust  to  doubt;  from  doubt  to  brink  of  ban;  — 
Thus  much  of  change  in  one  swift  cycle  ran 

Till  now.     Alas,  the  soul!  —  how  soon  must  she 

Accept  her  primal  immortality,  — 
The  flesh  resume  its  dust  whence  it  began? 

O  Lord  of  work  and  peace!     O  Lord  of  life! 
O  Lord,  the  awful  Lord  of  will !  though  late, 
Even  yet  renew  this  soul  with  duteous  breath: 

That  when  the  peace  is  garnered  in  from  strife, 
The  work  retrieved,  the  will  regenerate, 
This  soul  may  see  thy  face,  O  Lord  of  death ! 

Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 


30  January   28 


PER   PACEM  AD  LUCEM 

X  DO  not  ask,  O  Lord,  that  life  may  be 

A  pleasant  road; 
I  do  not  ask  that  Thou  wouldst  take  from  me 

Aught  of  its  load: 

I  do  not  ask  that  flowers  should  always  spring 

Beneath  my  feet; 
I  know  too  well  the  poison  and  the  sting 

Of  things  too  sweet. 

For  one  thing  only,  Lord,  dear  Lord,  I  plead: 

Lead  me  aright  — 
Though   strength   should   falter   and   though   heart 
should  bleed, 

Through  Peace  to  Light. 

I  do  not  ask,  O  Lord,  that  Thou  shouldst  shed 

Full  radiance  here: 
Give  but  a  ray  of  peace,  that  I  may  tread 

Without  a  fear. 

I  do  not  ask  my  cross  to  understand, 

My  way  to  see; 
Better  in  darkness  just  to  feel  Thy  hand, 

And  follow  Thee. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


January   29  31 


TIME  AND  DEATH 


I 


SAW  old  Time,  destroyer  of  mankind; 
Calm,  stern,  and  cold  he  sate,  and  often  shook 
And  turn'd  his  glass,  nor  ever  car'd  to  look 
How  many  of  life's  sands  were  still  behind. 
And  there  was  Death,  his  page,  aghast  to  find 
How  tremblingly,  like  aspens  o'er  a  brook, 
His  blunted  dart  fell  harmless;   so  he  took 
His  master's  scythe,  and  idly  smote  the  wind. 
Smite  on,  thou  gloomy  one,  with  powerless  aim! 
For  Sin,  thy  mother,  at  her  dying  breath 
Wither'd  that  arm,  and  left  thee  but  a  name. 
Hope  clos'd  the  grave,  when  He  of  Nazareth, 
Who  led  captivity  His  captive,  came 
And   vanquish'd   the  great  conquerors,   Time   and 
Death. 

William  Henry  Whitworth 


32  January   SO 


THE  SURE   DEFENCE 

V_>/  GOD,  our  help  in  ages  past, 

Our  hope  for  years  to  come, 
Our  shelter  from  the  stormy  blast, 

And  our  eternal  home: 

Under  the  shadow  of  Thy  Throne 

Thy  saints  have  dwelt  secure; 
Sufficient  is  Thine  arm  alone, 

And  our  defence  is  sure. 

Before  the  hills  in  order  stood, 

Or  earth  received  her  frame, 
From  everlasting  Thou  art  God, 

To  endless  years  the  same. 

A  thousand  ages  in  Thy  sight 

Are  like  an  evening  gone; 
Short  as  the  watch  that  ends  the  night 

Before  the  rising  sun. 

Time,  like  an  ever-rolling  stream, 

Bears  all  its  sons  away; 
They  fly  forgotten,  as  a  dream 

Dies  at  the  opening  day. 

Our  God,  our  help  in  ages  past; 

Our  hope  for  years  to  come; 
Be  Thou  our  guard  while  troubles  last, 

And  our  eternal  home!  IsAAC  Watk 


J anu  ary  3 1  33 


BEYOND  THE  BELT  OF  DARKNESS  * 

STILL  the  yea^.1  on 

More  gently,  but  with  not  less  mighty  sweep. 
They  gather  up  again  and  softly  bear 
All  the  sweet  lives  that  late  were  overwhelmed, 
And  lost  to  sight  —  all  that  in  them  was  good, 
Noble,  and  truly  great  and  worthy  of  love  — 

.     .     .     —  all  are  raised  and  borne 
By  that  great  current  on  its  onward  sweep, 
Wandering  and  rippling  with  caressing  waves 
Around  green  islands,  fragrant  with  the  breath 
Of  flowers  that  never  wither.     So  they  pass, 
From  stage  to  stage,  along  the  shining  course 
Of  that  fair  river  broadening  like  a  sea. 
As  its  smooth  eddies  curl  along  their  way, 
They  bring  old  friends  together;   hands  are  clasped 
In  joy  unspeakable;   the  mother's  arms 
Again  are  folded  round  the  child  she  loved 
And  lost.     Old  sorrows  are  forgotten  now, 
Or  but  remembered  to  make  sweet  the  hour 
That  overpays  them;   wounded  hearts  that  bled 
Or  broke  are  healed  forever.     In  the  room 
Of  this  grief-shadowed  Present  there  shall  be 
A  Present  in  whose  reign  no  grief  shall  gnaw 
The  heart,  and  never  shall  a  tender  tie 
Be  broken  —  in  whose  reign  the  eternal  Change 
That  waits  on  growth  and  action  shall  proceed 
With  everlasting  Concord  hand  in  hand. 

William  Cullen  Bryant 

1  From  The  Flood  of  Years.      Reprinted  from  Bryant's  Cow- 
plete  Poetical  Works,  by  permission  of  D.  Appleton  and  Company. 


34  February   1 


DO   SOMETHING 


I 


F  the  world  seems  cool  to  you, 

Kindle  fires  to  warm  it! 
Let  their  comfort  hide  from  you 

Winters  that  deform  it. 
Hearts  as  frozen  as  your  own 

To  that  radiance  gather; 
You  will  soon  forget  to  moan, 

"Ah!  the  cheerless  weather!" 

If  the  world's  a  "vale  of  tears," 

Smile  till  rainbows  span  it; 
Breathe  the  love  that  life  endears  — 

Clear  from  clouds  to  fan  it. 
Of  your  gladness  lend  a  gleam 

Unto  souls  that  shiver; 
Show  them  how  dark  sorrow's  stream 

Blends  with  hope's  bright  river. 

Lucy  Larcou 


F  e  b  r  u  a  r  y   2  35 


LOVE-SERVICE 

X  HE  sweetest  lives  are  those  to  duty  wed, 

Whose  deeds,  both  great  and  small, 
Are  close-knit  strands  of  an  unbroken  thread, 

Where  love  ennobles  all. 
The  world  may  sound  no  trumpets,  ring  no  bells: 
The  book  of  life  the  shining  record  tells. 
Thy  love  shall  chant  its  own  beatitudes 
After  its  own  life  working.     A  child's  kiss 
Set  on  thy  sighing  lips  shall  make  thee  glad, 
A  sick  man  helped  by  thee  shall  make  thee  strong, 
Thou  shalt  be  served  thyself  by  every  sense 
Of  service  which  thou  renderest. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


36 


Feb 


r  u  ar  y 


WINTER  MEDITATION 

FROM    "THE    TASK" 


N. 


O  noise  is  here,  or  none  that  hinders  thought. 
The  redbreast  warbles  still,  but  is  content 
With  slender  notes,  and  more  than  half- suppressed; 
Pleased  with  his  solitude,  and  flitting  light 
From  spray  to  spray,  where'er  he  rests  he  shakes 
From  many  a  twig  the  pendent  drops  of  ice, 
That  tinkle  in  the  withered  leaves  below. 
Stillness,  accompanied  with  sounds  so  soft, 
Charms  more  than  silence.     Meditation  here 
May   think   down    hours   to    moments.     Here   the 

heart 
May  give  an  useful  lesson  to  the  head, 
And  Learning  wiser  grow  without  his  books. 
Knowledge  and  Wisdom  far  from  being  one, 
Have  oftimes  no  connexion.     Knowledge  dwells 
In  heads  replete  with  thoughts  of  other  men; 
Wisdom  in  minds  attentive  to  their  own. 
Knowledge,  a  rude  unprofitable  mass, 
The  mere  materials  with  which  Wisdom  builds. 

William  Cowper 


February  4  37 


THE   BEAUTY  OF  LIFE 

J.  _lOW  beautiful  it  is  to  be  alive! 
To  wake  each  morn  as  if  the  Maker's  grace 
Did  us  afresh  from  nothingness  derive 
That  we  may  sing  "How  happy  is  our  case! 
How  beautiful  it  is  to  be  alive!" 

To  read  in  God's  great  Book,  until  we  feel 
Love  for  the  love  that  gave  it;   then  to  kneel 
Close  unto  Him  Whose  truth  our  souls  will  shrive, 
While  every  moment's  joy  doth  more  reveal 
How  beautiful  it  is  to  be  alive. 

Rather  to  go  without  what  might  increase 
Our  worldly  standing,  than  our  souls  deprive 
Of  frequent  speech  with  God,  or  than  to  cease 
To  feel,  through  having  wasted  health  or  peace, 
How  beautiful  it  is  to  be  alive. 

Not  to  forget,  when  pain  and  grief  draw  nigh, 
Into  the  ocean  of  time  past  to  dive 
For  memories  of  God's  mercies,  or  to  try 
To  bear  all  sweetly,  hoping  still  to  cry 
"How  beautiful  it  is  to  be  alive!" 

Thus  ever  towards  man's  height  of  nobleness 
Strive  still  some  new  progression  to  contrive; 
Till,  just  as  any  other  friend's,  we  press 
Death's  hand;   and,  having  died,  feel  none  the  less 
How  beautiful  it  is  to  be  alive. 

Henry  Septimus  Sutton 


38  February   5 


MORAL  COSMETICS 


Y 


E  who  would  have  your  features  florid, 
Lithe  limbs,  bright  eyes,  unwrinkled  forehead, 
From  age's  devastation  horrid, 

Adopt  this  plan,  — 
'Twill  make,  in  climate  cold  or  torrid, 

A  hale  old  man: 

Avoid  in  youth  luxurious  diet, 
Restrain  the  passions'  lawless  riot; 
Devoted  to  domestic  quiet, 

Be  wisely  gay; 
So  shall  ye,  spite  of  age's  fiat, 

Resist  decay. 

Seek  not  in  Mammon's  worship  pleasure, 
But  find  your  richest,  dearest  treasure 
In  God,  his  word,  his  work,  not  leisure: 

The  mind,  not  sense, 
Is  the  sole  scale  by  which  to  measure 

Your  opulence. 

This  is  the  solace,  this  the  science, 
Life's  purest,  sweetest,  best  appliance, 
That  disappoints  not  man's  reliance, 

Whate'er  his  state; 
But  challenges,  with  calm  defiance, 

Time,  fortune,  fate. 

Horace  Smith 


February   6  39 


WHAT  MIGHT  BE  DONE 

V V  HAT  might  be  done  if  men  were  wise  — 
What  glorious  deeds,  my  suffering  brother, 

Would  they  unite 

In  love  and  right, 
And  cease  their  scorn  of  one  another? 

Oppression's  heart  might  be  imbued 
With  kindling  drops  of  loving-kindness, 
And  knowledge  pour, 
From  shore  to  shore, 
Light  on  the  eyes  of  mental  blindness. 

All  slavery,  warfare,  lies,  and  wrongs, 
All  vice  and  crime,  might  die  together; 

And  wine  and  corn, 

To  each  man  born, 
Be  free  as  warmth  in  summer  weather. 

The  meanest  wretch  that  ever  trod, 
The  deepest  sunk  in  guilt  and  sorrow, 

Might  stand  erect 

In  self-respect, 
And  share  the  teeming  world  to-morrow. 

What  might  be  done?     This  might  be  done, 
And  more  than  this,  my  suffering  brother  — 
More  than  the  tongue 
E'er  said  or  sung, 
If  men  were  wise  and  Iov'd  each  other. 

Charles  Mackay 


40  February   7 


AH!     YET  CONSIDER   IT  AGAIN 

V^/LE)  things  need  not  be  therefore  true, 
O  brother  men,  nor  yet  the  new; 
Ah!    still  awhile  the  old  thought  retain, 
And  yet  consider  it  again! 

The  souls  of  now  two  thousand  years 
Have  laid  up  here  their  toils  and  fears, 
And  all  the  earnings  of  their  pain,  — 
Ah,  yet  consider  it  again! 

We!   what  do  we  see?   each  a  space 
Of  some  few  yards  before  his  face; 
Does  that  the  whole  wide  plan  explain? 
Ah,  yet  consider  it  again! 

Alas!   the  great  world  goes  its  way, 
And  takes  its  truth  from  each  new  day; 
They  do  not  quit,  nor  can  retain, 
Far  less  consider  it  again. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 


February   8  41 


HUMANITY 

\_  HERE  is  a  soul  above  the  soul  of  each, 
A  mightier  soul,  which  yet  to  each  belongs: 
There  is  a  sound  made  of  all  human  speech, 
And  numerous  as  the  concourse  of  all  songs: 
And  in  that  soul  lives  each,  in  each  that  soul, 
Though  all  the  ages  are  its  lifetime  vast; 
Each  soul  that  dies,  in  its  most  sacred  whole 
Receiveth  life  that  shall  forever  last. 
And  thus  forever  with  a  wider  span 
Humanity  o'erarches  time  and  death; 
Man  can  elect  the  universal  man, 
And  live  in  life  that  ends  not  with  his  breath: 
And  gather  glory  that  increases  still 
Till  Time  his  glass  with  Death's  last  dust   shal 
fill*  Richard  Watson  Dixon 


42  February 


HYMN  TO  ADVERSITY 

1  yAUGHTER  of  Jove,  relentless  pow'r, 
Thou  tamer  of  the  human  breast, 
Whose  iron  scourge  and  tort'ring  hour 
The  bad  affright,  afflict  the  best! 
Bound  in  thy  adamantine  chain, 
The  proud  are  taught  to  taste  of  pain, 
And  purple  tyrants  vainly  groan 
With  pangs  unfelt  before,  unpitied  and  alone. 

When  first  thy  sire  to  send  on  earth 
Virtue,  his  darling  child,  design'd, 
To  thee  he  gave  the  heav'nly  birth, 
And  bade  thee  form  her  infant  mind. 
Stern  rugged  nurse!    thy  rigid  lore 
With  patience  many  a  year  she  bore: 
What  sorrow  was,  thou  bad'st  her  know 
And  from  her  own  she  Iearn'd  to  melt  at  ether's 
woe. 

Thy  form  benign,  O  Goddess!    wear, 
Thy  milder  influence  impart, 
Thy  philosophic  train  be  there, 
To  soften,  not  to  wound  my  heart. 
The  gen'rous  spark  extinct  revive, 
Teach  me  to  love  and  to  forgive, 
Exact  my  own  defects  to  scan, 
What  others  are,  to  feel,  and  know  myself  a  man. 

Thomas  Gray 


February   10  43 


SHEPHERD  BOY'S  SONG   IN  THE 
VALLEY  OF  HUMILIATION 

FROM    "PILGRIM'S    PROGRESS,"    PART    II 

XJ.  E  that  is  down  needs  fear  no  fall, 

He  that  is  low,  no  pride; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

I  am  content  with  what  I  have, 

Little  be  it  or  much: 
And,  Lord,  contentment  still  I  crave, 
^Because  Thou  savest  such. 

Fulness  to  such  a  burden  is 

That  go  on  pilgrimage: 
Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 

Is  best  from  age  to  age. 

John  Bunyan 


44  February   11 


THE  APPOINTED  WAY 

X  HOU  earnest  not  to  thy  place  by  accident, 
It  is  the  very  place  God  meant  for  thee; 
And  shouldst  thou  there  small  scope  for  action  see, 
Do  not  for  this  give  room  to  discontent; 
Nor  let  the  time  thou  owest  to  God  be  spent 
In  idly  dreaming  how  thou  mightest  be 
In  what  concerns  thy  spiritual  life,  more  free 
From  outward  hindrance  or  impediment: 
For  presently  this  hindrance  thou  shalt  find 
That  without  which  all  goodness  were  a  task 
So  slight,  that  Virtue  never  could  grow  strong: 
And  wouldst  thou  do  one  duty  to  His  mind, 
The  Imposer's  —  over-burdened  thou  shalt  ask, 
And  own  thy  need  of  grace  to  help,  ere  long. 

Richard  Chexevlx  Trench 


February  12  45 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

FROM    "THE    HARVARD    COMMEMORATION    ODE" 

JP  OR  him  her  Old-World  moulds  aside  she  threw, 
And,  choosing  sweet  clay  from  the  breast 

Of  the  unexhausted  West, 
With  stuff  untainted  shaped  a  hero  new, 
Wise,  steadfast  in  the  strength  of  God,  and  true. 

Here  was  a  type  of  the  true  elder  race, 
And  one  of  Plutarch's  men  talked  with  us  face  to 
face. 

I  praise  him  not;   it  were  too  late; 
And  some  innative  weakness  there  must  be 
In  him  who  condescends  to  victory 
Such  as  the  Present  gives,  and  cannot  wait, 
Safe  in  himself  as  in  a  fate. 
So  always  firmly  he: 
He  knew  to  bide  his  time, 
And  can  his  fame  abide, 
Still  patient  in  his  simple  faith  sublime, 
Till  the  wise  years  decide. 
Great  captains,  with  their  guns  and  drums, 
Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 
But  at  last  silence  comes; 
These  all  are  gone,  and,  standing  like  a  tower, 

Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame, 
The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man, 
Sagacious,  patient,  dreading  praise,  not  blame, 
New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American. 

James  Russell  Lowell  (1865) 


46  February   IS 


TIME   MISSPENT 

X  HERE  is  no  remedy  for  time  misspent; 
No  healing  for  the  waste  of  idleness, 
Whose  very  languor  is  a  punishment 
Heavier  than  active  souls  can  feel  or  guess. 
O  hours  of  indolence  and  discontent, 
Not  now  to  be  redeemed!    ye  sting  not  less 
Because  I  know  this  span  of  life  was  lent 
For  lofty  duties,  not  for  selfishness. 
Not  to  be  whiled  away  in  aimless  dreams, 
But  to  improve  ourselves,  and  serve  mankind, 
Life  and  its  choicest  faculties  were  given. 
Man  should  be  ever  better  than  he  seems, 
And  shape  his  acts,  and  discipline  his  mind, 
To  walk  adorning  earth,  with  hope  of  heaven. 
Sir  Aubrey  De  Vere 


February   14  47 


WEALTH 

FROM    "MISS    KILMANSEGGE' 


G< 


rOLD!  gold!  gold!  gold! 
Bright  and  yellow,  hard  and  cold, 
Molten,  graven,  hammered  and  rolled; 
Heavy  to  get,  and  light  to  hold; 
Hoarded,  bartered,  bought,  and  sold, 
Stolen,  borrowed,  squandered,  doled: 
Spurned  by  the  young,  but  hugged  by  the  old 
To  the  very  verge  of  the  churchyard  mould; 
Price  of  many  a  crime  untold: 
Gold!  gold!   gold!  gold! 
Good  or  bad  a  thousand-fold! 

How  widely  its  agencies  vary,  — 
To  save,  to  ruin,  to  curse,  to  bless,  — 
As  even  its  minted  coins  express, 
Now  stamped  with  the  image  of  good  Queen  Bess, 

And  now  of  a  Bloody  Mary. 

Thomas  Hood 


48 


February   15 


A   PRAYER 

JVlY  God!   O  let  me  call  Thee  mine! 

Weak,  wretched  sinner  though  I  be; 
My  trembling  soul  would  fain  be  thine, 

My  feeble  faith  still  clings  to  thee. 

Not  only  for  the  past  I  grieve, 

The  future  fills  me  with  dismay; 

Unless  Thou  hasten  to  relieve, 
I  know  my  heart  will  fall  away 

I  cannot  say  my  faith  is  strong, 
I  have  not  hope  my  love  is  great; 

But  strength  and  love  to  Thee  belong: 
O  do  not  leave  me  desolate! 

I  know  I  owe  my  all  to  Thee; 

O  take  the  heart  I  cannot  give; 
Do  Thou  my  Strength,  my  Saviour  be, 

And  make  me  to  Thy  glory  live! 

Emily  Bronte 


February   16  49 


WAIT  ON  THE   LORD 

VV  HO  seeketh  finds:   what  shall  be  his  relief 
Who  hath  no  power  to  seek,  no  heart  to  pray, 
No  sense  of  God,  but  bears  as  best  he  may, 
A  lonely  incommunicable  grief? 
What  shall  he  do?     One  only  thing  he  knows, 
That  his  life  flits  a  frail  uneasy  spark 
In  the  great  vast  of  universal  dark, 
And  that  the  grave  may  not  be  all  repose. 
Be  still,  sad  soul!   lift  thou  no  passionate  cry, 
But  spread  the  desert  of  thy  being  bare 
To  the  full  searching  of  the  All-seeing  eye: 
Wait  —  and  through  dark  misgiving,  blank  despair, 
God  will  come  down  in  pity,  and  fill  the  dry 
Dead  place  with  light,  and  life,  and  vernal  air. 

John  Campbell  Shairp 


50  February   17 


JESUS 

I  ESUS,  there  is  no  dearer  name  than  thine 
"  Which  Time  has  blazoned  on  his  mighty  scroll; 
No  wreaths  nor  garlands  ever  did  entwine 
So  fair  a  temple  of  so  vast  a  soul. 

There  every  virtue  set  his  triumph-seal; 

Wisdom,    conjoined    with    strength    and    radiant 
grace, 
In  a  sweet  copy  Heaven  to  reveal, 

And  stamp  perfection  on  a  mortal  face. 

Once  on  the  earth  wert  thou,  before  men's  eyes, 
That  did  not  half  thy  beauteous  brightness  see; 

E'en  as  the  emmet  does  not  read  the  skies, 
Nor  our  weak  orbs  look  through  immensity. 

Theodore  Parker 


February  18  51 


HYMN  OF  TRUST 

V^/    LOVE  Divine,  that  stooped  to  share 
Our  sharpest  pang,  our  bitterest  tear, 

On  Thee  we  cast  each  earth-born  care, 
We  smile  at  pain  while  Thou  art  near! 

Though  long  the  weary  way  we  tread, 
And  sorrow  crown  each  lingering  year, 

No  path  we  shun,  no  darkness  dread, 

Our  hearts  still  whispering,  Thou  art  near! 

When  drooping  pleasure  turns  to  grief, 
And  trembling  faith  is  changed  to  fear, 

The  murmuring  wind,  the  quivering  leaf, 
Shall  softly  tell  us,  Thou  art  near! 

On  Thee  we  fling  our  burdening  woe, 

O  Love  Divine,  forever  dear, 
Content  to  suffer  while  we  know, 

Living  and  dying,  Thou  art  near! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


$2  February   19 

SORROW'S   MISSION 

FROM    "OX    THE    DEATH    OF    A    FRIEXd's    CHILD" 

X   IS  sorrow  builds  the  shining  ladder  up 
Whose  golden  rounds  are  our  calamities, 
Whereon  our  firm  feet  planting,  nearer  God 
The  spirit  climbs,  and  hath  its  eyes  unsealed. 

True  is  it  that  Death's  face  seems  stern  and  cold, 

When  he  is  sent  to  summon  those  we  love, 

But  all  God's  angels  come  to  us  disguised; 

Sorrow  and  sickness,  poverty  and  death, 

One  after  other  lift  their  frowning  masks, 

And  we  behold  the  seraph's  face  beneath, 

All  radiant  with  the  glory  and  the  calm 

Of  having  looked  upon  the  front  of  God. 

With  every  anguish  of  our  earthly  part 

The  spirit's  sight  grows  clearer;   this  was  meant 

When  Jesus  touched  the  blind  man's  lids  with  clay, 

Life  is  the  jailer,  Death  the  angel  sent 

To  draw  the  unwilling  bolts  and  set  us  free. 

O,  if  Death 
More  near  approaches,  meditates,  and  clasps 
Even  now  some  dearer,  more  reluctant  hand, 
God,  strengthen  thou  my  faith,  that  I  may  see 
That  'tis  thine  angel,  who,  with  loving  haste, 
Unto  the  service  of  the  inner  shrine 
Doth  waken  thy  beloved  with  a  kiss! 

James  Russell  Lowell 


F  eb  r  u  ar  y  2  0  53 


LIFE,  LORD  OF  DEATH 

FROM    "SNOW-BOUND" 

11 ENCEFORWARD,  listen  as  we  will, 
The  voices  of  that  hearth  are  still; 
Look  where  we  may,  the  wide  earth  o'er, 
Those  lighted  faces  smile  no  more. 
We  tread  the  paths  their  feet  have  worn, 

We  sit  beneath  their  orchard-trees, 

We  hear,  like  them,  the  hum  of  bees 
And  rustle  of  the  bladed  corn; 
We  turn  the  pages  that  they  read, 

Their  written  words  we  linger  o'er, 
But  in  the  sun  they  cast  no  shade, 
No  voice  is  heard,  no  sign  is  made, 

No  step  is  on  the  conscious  floor! 
Yet  Love  will  dream,  and  Faith  will  trust, 
(Since  He  who  knows  our  need  is  just), 
That  somehow,  somewhere,  meet  we  must. 
Alas  for  him  who  never  sees 
The  stars  shine  through  his  cypress-trees! 
Who,  hopeless,  lays  his  dead  away, 
Nor  looks  to  see  the  breaking  day 
Across  the  mournful  marbles  play! 
Who  hath  not  learned,  in  hours  of  faith, 

The  truth  to  flesh  and  sense  unknown, 
That  Life  is  ever  lord  of  Death, 

And  Love  can  never  lose  its  own! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


54  F  ebr  u  ary  2 1 

HOME 


W. 


HAT  is  House  and  what  is  Home, 
Where  with  freedom  thou  hast  room, 
And  may'st  to  all  tyrants  say, 
This  you  cannot  take  away? 
'Tis  no  thing  with  doors  and  walls, 
Which  at  every  earthquake  falls; 
No  fair  towers,  whose  princely  fashion 
Is  but  Plunder's  invitation; 
No  stout  marble  structure,  where 
Walls  Eternity  do  dare; 
No  brass  gates,  no  bars  of  steel, 
Tho'  Time's  teeth  they  scorn  to  feel: 
Brass  is  not  so  bold  as  Pride, 
If  on  Power's  wings  it  ride; 
Marble's  not  so  hard  as  Spite 
Arm'd  with  lawless  Strength  and  Might. 

Seek  no  more  abroad,  say  I, 
House  and  Home,  but  turn  thine  eye 
Inward,  and  observe  thy  breast; 
There  alone  dwells  solid  Rest. 
That's  a  close  immured  tower 
Which  can  mock  all  hostile  power. 
To  thyself  a  tenant  be, 
And  inhabit  safe  and  free. 
Home  is  everywhere  to  thee 
Who  canst  thine  own  dwelling  be. 

Joseph  Beaumont 


Feb  r  u  ar  y  2  2  55 


WASHINGTON 

FROM    "UNDER    THE    ELM,"    1 875 


w. 


HAT  figure  more  immovably  august 
Than  that  grave  strength  so  patient  and  so  pure, 
Calm  in  good  fortune,  when  it  wavered,  sure, 
That  soul  serene,  impenetrably  just, 
Modelled  on  classic  lines,  so  simple  they  endure? 
That  soul  so  softly  radiant  and  so  white 
The  track  it  left  seems  less  of  fire  than  light, 
Cold  but  to  such  as  love  distemperature? 
And  if  pure  light,  as  some  deem,  be  the  force 
That  drives  rejoicing  planets  on  their  course, 
Why  for  his  power  benign  seek  an  impurer  source? 

Soldier  and  statesman,  rarest  unison; 
High-poised  example  of  great  duties  done 
Simply  as  breathing,  a  world's  honors  worn 
As  life's  indifferent  gifts  to  all  men  born; 
Dumb  for  himself,  unless  it  were  to  God, 
But  for  his  barefoot  soldiers  eloquent, 
Tramping  the  snow  to  coral  where  they  trod, 
Held  by  his  awe  in  hollow-eyed  content; 
Modest,  yet  firm  as  Nature's  self;   unblamed 
Save  by  the  men  his  nobler  temper  shamed; 
Not  honored  then  or  now  because  he  wooed 
The  popular  voice,  but  that  he  still  withstood; 
Broad-minded,  higher-souled,  there  is  but  one 
Who    was    all    this,    and    ours,    and    all    men's,  — 
Washington.  jAMES  russell  Lowell 


56  February   23 

NOW! 

FROM    "THE    VERDICT   OF   DEATH " 

X.  J.  OW  does  Death  speak  of  our  beloved 

When  it  has  laid  them  low; 
When  it  has  set  its  hallowing  touch 

On  speechless  lip  and  brow? 

It  takes  each  failing  on  our  part, 
And  brands  it  in  upon  the  heart 
W'ith  caustic  power  and  cruel  art. 

The  small  neglect  that  may  have  pained, 
A  giant  stature  will  have  gained 
When  it  can  never  be  explained; 

The  little  service  which  had  proved 
How  tenderly  we  watched  and  loved, 
And  those  mute  lips  to  glad  smiles  moved; 

It  shows  our  faults  like  fires  at  night; 
It  sweeps  their  failings  out  of  sight; 
It  clothes  their  good  in  heavenly  light. 

O  Christ,  our  life!    foredate  the  work  of  Death, 

And  do  this  now! 
Thou  who  art  love,  thus  hallow  our  beloved! 

Not  Death,  but  Thou ! 

Elizabeth  Rundle  Charles 


February  24  57 


LONGING  FOR  HEAVEN 

J[  HE  roseate  hues  of  early  dawn, 

The  brightness  of  the  day, 
The  crimson  of  the  sunset  sky, 

How  fast  they  fade  away! 
O  for  the  pearly  gates  of  heaven, 

O  for  the  golden  floor, 
O  for  the  Sun  of  righteousness 

That  setteth  nevermore! 

The  highest  hopes  we  cherish  here, 

How  fast  they  tire  and  faint; 
How  many  a  spot  defiles  the  robe 

That  wraps  an  earthly  saint! 
O  for  a  heart  that  never  sins, 

O  for  a  soul  wash'd  white, 
O  for  a  voice  to  praise  our  King, 

Nor  weary  day  or  night! 

Here  faith  is  ours,  and  heavenly  hope, 

And  grace,  to  lead  us  higher; 
But  there  are  perfectness  and  peace, 

Beyond  our  best  desire. 
Oh,  by  Thy  love  and  anguish,  Lord, 

And  by  Thy  life  laid  down, 
Grant  that  we  fall  not  from  Thy  grace, 

Nor  cast  away  our  crown. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


58  February   25 


HYMN  OF  WINTER 

X   IS  Winter  now;   the  fallen  snow 
Has  left  the  heavens  all  coldly  clear; 
Through  leafless  boughs  the  sharp  winds  blow, 
And  all  the  earth  lies  dead  and  drear. 

And  yet  God's  love  is  not  withdrawn; 

His  life  within  the  keen  air  breathes, 
His  beauty  paints  the  crimson  dawn, 

And  clothes  the  boughs  with  glitt'ring  wreaths. 

And  though  abroad  the  sharp  winds  blow, 
And  skies  are  chill,  and  frosts  are  keen, 

Home  closer  draws  her  circle  now 
And  warmer  glows  her  light  within. 

O  God!    who  giv'st  the  winter's  cold 

As  well  as  summer's  joyous  days, 
Us  warmly  in  Thy  love  enfold, 

And  keep  us  through  life's  wintry  days! 

Samuel  Longfellow 


February  26  59 


CONSCIENCE 

J\    KNOCKING  at  my   heart  —  and  what  art 
thou? 
"I  was  the  unforgiven;   from  your  door 
You   spurned   me   once   and   bade   me   come   no 
more. 
/  am  the  ever  present  suppliant  now." 

A  famine  at  my  heart  —  and  what  art  thou? 
"  I  was  that  Lazarus,  of  men  the  least 
Whom  once  you  sent  anhungered  from  your  feast. 

/  am  the  ever  present  hunger  now." 

An  aching  at  my  heart  —  and  what  art  thou? 
"  I  was  that  love  you  chose  once  to  divide, 
Who,  wounded,  at  your  threshold  fell  and  died. 

/  am  the  ever  present  longing  now." 

A  sweetness  at  my  heart  —  and  what  art  thou? 
"I  was  the  kindly  deed  you  quite  forgot, 
The  joy  bestowed  that  you  remember  not. 

I  am  your  Angel  of  Forgiveness  now." 

Theodosia  Garrison 


6o  February   27 


THE   FLOWER  OF  THEIR  SOULS 

FROM    "IN    MEMORY    OF    BARRY    CORNWALL" 

J[   LME    takes   them    home   that    we   loved,    fair 

names  and  famous, 

To  the  soft  long  sleep,  to  the  broad  sweet  bosom 

of  death ; 

But  the  flower  of  their  souls  he  shall  take  not  away 

to  shame  us, 

Nor   the   lips   lack   song   forever   that   now   lack 

breath. 

For  with  us  shall  the  music  and  perfume  that  die 

not  dwell, 

Though  the  dead  to  our  dead  bid  welcome,  and  we 

farewell. 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne 


February   28  61 


THE  GREEN  GRASS  UNDER  THE  SNOW 

J.  HE  work  of  the  sun  is  slow, 
But  as  sure  as  heaven  we  know 

So  we'll  not  forget, 

When  the  skies  are  wet, 
There's  green  grass  under  the  snow. 

When  the  winds  of  winter  blow 
Wailing  like  voices  of  woe, 

There  are  April  showers, 

And  buds  and  flowers, 
And  green  grass  under  the  snow. 

We  find  that  it's  ever  so 
In  this  life's  uneven  flow; 

We've  only  to  wait 

In  the  face  of  fate 
For  the  green  grass  under  the  snow. 

Annie  A.  Preston 


62  F  eb  r  u  ar  y   2  9 

"TO  JANE  — THE   INVITATION 


B- 


i EST  and  brightest,  come  away! 
Fairer  far  than  this  fair  Day, 
Which,  like  thee  to  those  in  sorrow, 
Comes  to  bid  a  sweet  good-morrow 
To  the  rough  Year  just  awake 
In  its  cradle  on  the  brake, 
The  brightest  hour  of  unborn  Spring, 
Through  the  winter  wandering, 
Found,  it  seems,  the  halcyon  Morn 
To  hoar  February  born; 
Bending  from  Heaven,  in  azure  mirth, 
It  kissed  the  forehead  of  the  Earth, 
And  smiled  upon  the  silent  sea, 
And  bade  the  frozen  streams  be  free, 
And  waked  to  music  all  their  fountains, 
And  breathed  upon  the  frozen  mountains, 
And  like  a  prophetess  of  May 
Strewed  flowers  upon  the  barren  way, 
Making  the  wintry  world  appear 
Like  one  on  whom  thou  smilest,  dear. 

Away,  away,  from  men  and  towns, 
To  the  wild  woods  and  the  downs  — 
To  the  silent  wilderness 
Where  the  soul  need  not  repress 
Its  music  lest  it  should  not  find 
An  echo  in  another's  mind, 
While  the  touch  of  Nature's  art 
Harmonizes  heart  to  heart. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 


M  ar  ch  1  63 


MARCH 


S. 


•  LAYER  of  Winter,  art  thou  here  again? 
O  welcome,  thou  that  bring'st  the  summer  nigh! 
The  bitter  wind  makes  not  thy  victory  vain, 
Nor  will  we  mock  thee  for  thy  faint  blue  sky. 
Welcome,  O  March!    whose  kindly  days  and  dry 
Make  April  ready  for  the  throstle's  song, 
Thou  first  redresser  of  the  winter's  wrong! 

Yea,  welcome,  March!   and  though  I  die  ere  June, 
Yet  for  the  hope  of  life  I  give  thee  praise, 
Striving  to  swell  the  burden  of  the  tune 
That  even  now  I  hear  thy  brown  birds  raise, 
Unmindful  of  the  past  or  coming  days; 
Wko  sing,  "O  joy!   a  new  year  is  begun! 
What  happiness  to  look  upon  the  sun!" 

O,  what  begetteth  all  this  storm  of  bliss, 
But  Death  himself,  who,  crying  solemnly, 
Even  from  the  heart  of  sweet  Forgetfulness, 
Bids  us,  "Rejoice!   lest  pleasureless  ye  die. 
Within  a  little  time  must  ye  go  by. 
Stretch  forth  your  open  hands,  and,  while  ye  live, 
Take  all  the  gifts  that  Death  and  Life  may  give." 

William  Morris 


64 


March   2 


A  SNOWDROP 


o 


'NLY  a  tender  little  thing, 
So  velvet  soft  and  white  it  is; 
But  March  himself  is  not  so  strong, 
With  all  the  great  gales  that  are  his. 

In  vain  his  whistling  storms  he  calls, 

In  vain  the  cohorts  of  his  power 
Ride  down  the  sky  on  mighty  blasts  — 

He  cannot  crush  the  little  flower. 

Its  white  spear  parts  the  sod,  the  snows 
Than  that  white  spear  less  snowy  are, 

The  rains  roll  off  its  crest  like  spray, 
It  lifts  again  its  spotless  star. 

Blow,  blow,  dark  March!     To  meet  you  here, 
Thrust  upward  from  the  central  gloom, 

The  stellar  force  of  the  old  earth 
Pulses  to  life  in  this  slight  bloom. 

Harriet  Prescott  Spofford 


March?  65 

THE  CROCUS 


O 


UT  of  the  frozen  earth  below, 
Out  of  the  melting  of  the  snow, 

No  flower,  but  a  film,  I  push  to  light; 
No  stem,  no  bud,  —  yet  I  have  burst 
The  bars  of  winter,  I  am  the  first, 

0  Sun,  to  greet  thee  out  of  the  night! 

Bare  are  the  branches,  cold  is  the  air, 
Yet  it  is  fire  at  the  heart  I  bear, 

1  come,  a  flame  that  is  fed  by  none: 
The  summer  hath  blossoms  for  her  delight, 
Thick  and  dewy  and  waxen-white, 

Thou  seest  me  golden,  O  golden  Sun! 

Deep  in  the  warm  sleep  underground 
Life  is  still,  and  the  peace  profound: 

Yet  a  beam  that  pierced,  and  a  thrill  that  smote 
Call'd  me  and  drew  me  from  far  away;  — 
I  rose,  I  came,  to  the  open  day 

I  have  won,  unshelter'd,  alone,  remote. 

O  Glory  of  heaven,  O  Ruler  of  morn, 

0  Dream  that  shap'd  me,  and  I  was  born 

In  thy  likeness,  starry,  and  flower  of  flame; 

1  lie  on  earth,  and  to  thee  look  up, 
Into  thy  image  will  grow  my  cup, 

Till  a  sunbeam  dissolve  it  into  the  same. 

Harriet  Eleanor  Hamilton  King 


66  M  arcb   4 


HOPE 

FROM    "PLEASURES   OF    HOPE" 

JfRlMEVAL  Hope,  the  Aonian  Muses  say, 
When  Man  and  Nature  mourned  their  first  decay, 
When  every  form  of  Death  and  every  woe 
Shot  from  malignant  stars  to  Earth  below, 
When  Murder  bared  her  arms,  and  rampant  War 
Yoked  the  red  dragons  of  her  iron  car, 
When  Peace  and  Mercy,  banished  from  the  plain, 
Sprung  on  the  viewless  winds  to  Heaven  again; 
All,  all  forsook  the  friendless,  guilty  mind. 
But,  Hope,  the  charmer,  lingered  still  behind. 

Eternal  Hope!    when  yonder  spheres  sublime 
Pealed  their  first  notes  to  sound  the  march  of  time, 
Their  joyous  youth  began  —  but  not  to  fade. 
When  all  the  sister  planets  have  decayed; 
When,  rapt  in  fire,  the  realms  of  ether  glow, 
And  Heaven's  last  thunder  shakes  the  world  below; 
Thou,  undismayed,  shalt  o'er  the  ruins  smile, 
And  light  thy  torch  at  Nature's  funeral  pile! 

Thomas  Campbell 


Mar  c  b    5  67 


THE  MASTER'S  TOUCH 

XN  the  still  air  the  music  lies  unheard; 

In  the  rough  marble  beauty  hides  unseen; 
To  wake  the  music  and  the  beauty  needs 

The  master's  touch,  the  sculptor's  chisel  keen. 

Great  Master,  touch  us  with  thy  skilful  hand, 

Let  not  the  music  that  is  in  us  die; 
Great  Sculptor,  hew  and  polish  us;    nor  let, 

Hidden  and  lost,  thy  form  within  us  lie. 

Spare  not  the  stroke;   do  with  us  as  thou  wilt; 

Let  there  be  nought  unfmish'd,  broken,  marr'd; 
Complete  thy  purpose,  that  we  may  become 

Thy  perfect  image,  O  our  God  and  Lord. 

HORATIUS   BONAR 


68  Mar  c  h   6 


FOR  A'  THAT  AND  A'  THAT 


I 


S  there  for  honest  poverty 

Wha  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that? 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by; 

We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Our  toil's  obscure,  and  a'  that; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp,  — 

The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  make  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that; 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might   — 

Guid  faith,  he  maunna  fa'  that' 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that; 

Their  dignities,  and  a'  that, 
The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o'  worth, 

Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may,  — 

As  come  it  will  for  a  'that,  — 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth, 

May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that,  — 
When  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that! 

Robert  Burns 


Mar  cb   7  69 

SHEPHERD  AND   KING 

FROM    HENRY    VI,"    PART    III 

J\jNG   HENRY.  —  O  God!   methfnks,  it  were 

a  happy  life, 
To  be  no  better  than  a  homely  swain; 
To  sit  upon  a  hill,  as  I  do  now, 
To  carve  out  dials  quaintly,  point  by  point, 
Thereby  to  see  the  minutes  how  they  run: 
How  many  make  the  hour  full  complete, 
How  many  hours  bring  about  the  day, 
How  many  days  will  finish  up  the  year, 
How  many  years  a  mortal  man  may  live. 
When  this  is  known,  then  to  divide  the  times:  — 
So  many  hours  must  I  tend  my  flock, 
So  many  hours  must  I  take  my  rest; 
So  many  hours  must  I  contemplate; 
So  many  hours  must  I  sport  myself; 
So  many  days  my  ewes  have  been  with  young; 
So  many  weeks  ere  the  poor  fools  will  ean; 
So  many  years  ere  I  shall  shear  the  fleece: 
So  minutes,  hours,  days,  months,  and  years, 
Passed  over  to  the  end  they  were  created, 
Would  bring  white  hairs  unto  a  quiet  grave. 
Ah,  what  a  life  were  this!  how  sweet!    how  lovely! 
Gives  not  the  hawthorn  bush  a  sweeter  shade 
To  shepherds,  looking  on  their  silly  sheep, 
Than  doth  a  rich  embroidered  canopy 
To  kings  that  fear  their  subjects'  treachery? 

Shakespeare 


70  M  ar  c  h   8 

"IN   EVERY  THING  GIVING  THANKS' 


I 


THANK  Thee,  O  my  God!   who  made 

This  earth  so  bright; 
So  full  of  splendor  and  of  joy, 

Beauty  and  light; 
So  many  glorious  things  are  here, 

Noble  and  right! 

I  thank  Thee  even  that  all  our  joy 

Is  touched  with  pain; 
That  shadows  fall  on  brightest  hours, 

That  thorns  remain; 
So  that  earth's  bliss  may  be  our  guide, 

And  not  our  chain. 

For  Thou  who  knowest,  Lord,  how  soon 

Our  weak  heart  clings, 
Hast  given  us  joys,  tender  and  true, 

Yet  all  with  wings; 
So  that  we  see,  gleaming  on  high, 

Diviner  things. 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  that  Thou  hast  kept 

The  best  in  store; 
We  have  enough,  yet  not  too  much 

To  long  for  more; 
A  yearning  for  a  deeper  peace, 

Not  known  before. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


Ma  r  c  h   9  71 

MY  GOD,   I   LOVE  THEE 

xVJ.  Y  God,  I  love  thee!   not  because 

I  hope  for  heaven  thereby; 
Nor  because  those  who  love  thee  not 

Must  burn  eternally. 

Thou,  O  my  Jesus,  thou  didst  me 

Upon  the  cross  embrace! 
For  me  didst  bear  the  nails  and  spear, 

And  manifold  disgrace, 

And  griefs  and  torments  numberless, 

And  sweat  of  agony, 
Yea,  death  itself,  —  and  all  for  one 

That  was  thine  enemy. 

Then  why,  O  blessed  Jesus  Christ, 

Should  I  not  love  thee  well? 
Not  for  the  hope  of  winning  heaven, 

Nor  of  escaping  hell; 

Not  with  the  hope  of  gaining  aught, 

Not  seeking  a  reward; 
But  as  thyself  hast  loved  me, 

O  everlasting  Lord! 

E'en  so  I  love  thee,  and  will  love, 

And  in  thy  praise  will  sing,  — 
Solely  because  thou  art  my  God, 

And  my  eternal  King. 

Latin  of  St.  Francis  Xavier 
Translation  of  Edward  C  as  wall 


72  Mar  ch    10 


THE   EARLY   BLUE-BIRD 


B, 


►  LUE-BIRD!    on  yon  leafless  tree, 
Dost  thou  carol  thus  to  me, 
"Spring  is  coming!     Spring  is  here!" 
Say'st  thou  so,  my  birdie  dear? 
What  is  that,  m  misty  shroud, 
Stealing  from  the  darken'd  cloud? 
Lo!    the  snow-flakes'  gathering  mound 
Settles  o'er  the  whitened  ground, 
Yet  thou  singest,  blithe  and  clear, 
"Spring  is  coming!     Spring  is  here!" 

Spring's  a  maid  of  mirth  and  glee, 
Rosy  wreaths  and  revelry: 
Hast  thou  wooed  some  winged  love 
To  a  nest  in  verdant  grove? 
Sung  to  her  of  greenwood  bower, 
Sunny  skies  that  never  lower? 
Lured  her  with  thy  promise  fair 
Of  a  lot  that  knows  no  care? 
Pr'ythee,  bird,  in  coat  of  blue, 
Though  a  lover,  tell  her  true. 

Ask  her  if,  when  storms  are  long, 
She  can  sing  a  cheerful  song? 
'When  the  rude  winds  rock  the  tree, 
If  she'll  closer  cling  to  thee? 
Then  the  blasts  that  sweep  the  sky, 
Unappalled  shall  pass  thee  by; 
Though  thy  curtained  chamber  show 
Siftings  of  untimely  snow, 
\\  arm  and  glad  thy  heart  shall  be, 
Love  shall  make  it  Spring  for  thee. 

Charles  Mackay 


Mar  c  h   11  73 


THE   ENGLISH   ROBIN 

OEE  yon  robin  on  the  spray; 

Look  ye  how  his  tiny  form 
Swells,  as  when  his  merry  lay 

Gushes  forth  amid  the  storm. 

Though  the  snow  is  falling  fast, 

Specking  o'er  his  coat  with  white,  — 

Though  loud  roars  the  chilly  blast, 
And  the  evening's  lost  in  night,  — 

Yet  from  out  the  darkness  dreary 
Cometh  still  that  cheerful  note; 

Praiseful  aye,  and  never  weary, 
Is  that  little  warbling  throat. 

Thank  him  for  his  lesson's  sake, 
Thank  God's  gentle  minstrel  there, 

Who,  when  storms  make  others  quake, 
Sings  of  days  that  brighter  were. 

Harrison  Weir 


74  March    12 


RULES  AND  LESSONS 


w, 


HEN  first  thy  eyes  unveil,  give  thy  soul  leave 
To  do  the  like;   our  bodies  but  forerun 
The  spirit's  duty.     True  hearts  spread  and  heave 
Unto  their  God,  as  flowers  do  to  the  sun. 

Give  Him  thy  first  thoughts  then;    so  shalt  thou 

keep 
Him  company  all  day,  and  in  Him  sleep. 

Walk  with  thy  fellow-creatures.     Note  the  hush 
And  whispers  amongst  them.     There's  not  a  spring 
Or  leaf  but  hath  his  morning  hymn.     Each  bush 
And  oak  doth  know  I  AM.     Canst  thou  not  sing? 
O  leave  thy  cares  and  follies!     Go  this  way, 
And  thou  art  sure  to  prosper  all  the  day. 

When  the  world's  up,  and  every  swarm  abroad, 
Keep  thou  thy  temper;    mix  not  with  each  clay; 
Despatch  necessities;    life  hath  a  load 
Which  must  be  carried  on,  and  safely  may. 

Yet  keep  those  cares  without  thee,  let  the  heart 
Be  God's  alone,  and  choose  the  better  part. 

When  night  comes,  list  thy  deeds;  make  plain  the  way 
'Twixt  heaven  and  thee;   block  it  not  with  delays, 
But  perfect  all  before  thou  sleep'st:   then  say, 
"There's  one  sun  more  strung  on  my  bead  of  days." 
What's  good  score  up  for  joy:  the  bad  well  scanned 
Wash  off  with  tears,  and  get  thy  Master's  hand. 

Henry  Vaughan 


MarcblS  75 


SAY  NOT  THE  STRUGGLE  NAUGHT 
AVAILETH 

i^AY  not  the  struggle  naught  availeth, 
The  labour  and  the  wounds  are  vain, 

The  enemy  faints  not,  nor  faileth, 

And  as  things  have  been  they  remain. 

If  hopes  were  dupes,  fears  may  be  liars; 

It  may  be,  in  yon  smoke  conceal'd, 
Your  comrades  chase  e'en  now  the  fliers, 

And,  but  for  you,  possess  the  field. 

For  while  the  tired  waves,  vainly  breaking, 
Seem  here  no  painful  inch  to  gain, 

Far  back,  through  creeks  and  inlets  making, 
Comes  silent,  flooding  in,  the  main. 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 

When  daylight  comes,  comes  in  the  light; 

In  front  the  sun  climbs  slow,  how  slowly! 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright! 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 


76  M  arch   1  4 


THE   MEANS  TO  ATTAIN   HAPPY   LIFE 


M. 


ARTIAL,  the  things  that  do  attain 
The  happy  life  be  these,  I  find,  — 
The  riches  left,  not  got  with  pain; 
The  fruitful  ground,  the  quiet  mind, 

The  equal  friend;   no  grudge,  no  strife; 

No  charge  of  rule,  nor  governance; 
Without  disease,  the  healthful  life: 

The  household  of  continuance; 

The  mean  diet,  no  delicate  fare; 

True  wisdom  joined  with  simpleness; 
The  night  discharged  of  all  care, 

Where  wine  the  wit  may  not  oppress; 

The  faithful  wife,  without  debate; 

Such  sleeps  as  may  beguile  the  night; 
Contented  with  thine  own  estate, 

Ne  wish  for  death,  ne  fear  his  might. 

Henry  Howard,  Earl  or  Surrey 


M  ar  c  b   1  5  77 


THE   DAILY  WALK 

FROM    "MORNING" 

V  V  E  need  not  bid,  for  cloistered  cell, 
Our  neighbor  and  our  work  farewell, 
Nor  strive  to  wind  ourselves  too  high 
For  sinful  man  beneath  the  sky. 

The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Would  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask; 
Room  to  deny  ourselves;   a  road 
To  bring  us,  daily,  nearer  God. 

Seek  we  no  more;   content  with  these, 
Let  present  rapture,  comfort,  ease, 
As  Heaven  shall  bid  them,  come  and  go:  — 
The  secret  this  of  rest  below. 

Only,  O  Lord,  in  Thy  dear  love, 
Fit  us  for  perfect  rest  above; 
And  help  us,  this  and  every  day 
To  live  more  nearly  as  we  pray. 

John  Keble 


78 


March   16 


DEATH   THE   LEVELLER 


J.  HE  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 
Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things; 
There  is  no  armour  against  fate; 

Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings: 
Sceptre  and  Crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 

And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they  kill: 
♦But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield; 
They  tame  but  one  another  still: 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate, 
And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath 
When  they,  pale  captives,  creep  to  death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow; 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds; 
Upon  Death's  purple  altar  now 

See  where  the  victor-victim  bleeds: 
Your  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb; 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  their  dust. 

James  Shirley 


M  ar  ch   1  7  79 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO   HIS  SOUL 


Vi 


ITAL  spark  of  heav'nly  flame! 
Quit,  O  quit  this  mortal  frame: 
Trembling,  hoping,  ling' ring,  flying, 
O  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying! 

Cease,  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife, 

And  let  me  languish  into  life. 

Hark!   they  whisper;   angels  say, 

Sister  Spirit,  come  away! 

What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite? 

Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath? 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death? 

The  world  recedes;    it  disappears! 
Heav 'n  opens  on  my  eyes!    my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring! 
Lend,  lend  your  wings!    I  mount!    I  fly! 
O  Grave!   where  is  thy  victory? 

O  Death !    where  is  thy  sting? 

Alexander  Pope 


8o  March   18 


CHRISTUS   CONSOLATOR 

fjESIDE  the  dead  I  knelt  for  prayer, 

And  felt  a  presence  as  I  prayed. 
Lo!   it  was  Jesus  standing  there. 
He  smiled:    "Be  not  afraid!" 

"Lord,  Thou  hast  conquered  death,  we  know; 

Restore  again  to  life,"  I  said, 
"This  one  who  died  an  hour  ago." 

He  smiled:    "She  is  not  dead!" 

"Asleep  then,  as  Thyself  didst  say; 

Yet  Thou  canst  lift  the  lids  that  keep 
Her  prisoned  eyes  from  ours  away!" 
He  smiled:    "She  doth  not  sleep!" 

"Nay  then,  tho'  haply  she  do  wake, 
And  look  upon  some  fairer  dawn, 
Restore  her  to  our  hearts  that  ache!" 
He  smiled:    "She  is  not  gone!" 

"Yet  our  beloved  seem  so  far, 

The  while  we  yearn  to  feel  them  near, 
Albeit  with  Thee  we  trust  they  are." 
He  smiled:    "And  I  am  here!" 

"Dear  Lord,  how  shall  we  know  that  they 
Still  walk  unseen  with  us  and  Thee, 
Nor  sleep,  nor  wander  far  away?" 
He  smiled:    "Abide  in  Me." 

Rossiter  \Y.  Raymond 


March   19  81 

THE  MESSAGE 

FROM    "DEATH    IN    ARABIA " 

P  AREWELL,  friends!     Yet  not  farewell; 

Where  I  am,  ye,  too,  shall  dwell. 

I  am  gone  before  your  face, 

A  moment's  time,  a  little  space. 

When  ye  come  where  I  have  stepp'd 

Ye  will  wonder  why  ye  wept; 

Ye  will  know,  by  wise  love  taught, 

That  here  is  all,  and  there  is  naught. 

Weep  awhile,  if  ye  are  fain,  — 

Sunshine  still  must  follow  rain; 

Only  not  at  death,  —  for  death, 

Now  I  know,  is  that  first  breath 

Which  our  souls  draw  when  we  enter 

Life,  which  is  of  all  life  centre. 

Be  ye  certain  all  seems  love, 
View'd  from  Allah's  throne  above; 
Be  ye  stout  of  heart,  and  come 
Bravely  onward  to  your  home! 
La  Allah  ilia  Allah!   yea! 
Thou  love  divine!     Thou  love  alway! 

He  that  died  at  Azan1  gave 

This  to  those  who  made  his  grave. 

Sir  Edwin  Arnold 

*  Azan,  the  Moslem  hour  of  prayer,  esteemed  a  blest  time  to  die. 


82  March   20 


THE  GOLDEN  TEXT 


Y< 


OU  ask  for  fame  or  power? 
Then  up,  and  take  for  text:  — 
This  is  my  hour, 

And  not  the  next,  nor  next! 

Oh,  wander  not  in  ways 

Of  ease  or  indolence! 
Swift  come  the  days, 

And  swift  the  days  go  hence. 

Strike!   while  the  hand  is  strong, 

Strike!    while  you  can  and  may: 
Strength  goes  ere  long,  — 

Even  yours  will  pass  away. 
•  .  .  .  • 

But,  would  your  heart  aspire 

To  noble  things,  —  to  claim 
Bard's,  statesman's  fire  — 

Some  measure  of  their  fame; 

Or,  would  you  seek  and  find 

The  secret  of  success 
With  mortal  kind? 

Then,  up  from  idleness! 

Up  —  up !   all  fame,  all  power 

Lies  in  this  golden  text: 
This  is  my  hour  — 

And  not  the  next,  nor  next  ! 

George  Frederick  Cameron 


March   21  83 


SPREAD  SAIL! 

FROM    "SEEN    AND    UNSEEN ' 


o 


THOU  God's  mariner,  heart  of  mine 
Spread  canvas  to  the  airs  divine! 
Spread  sail!   and  let  thy  Fortune  be 
Forgotten  in  thy  Destiny. 

Life  Ioveth  life  and  good;   then  trust 
What  most  the  spirit  would,  it  must; 
Deep  wishes,  in  the  heart  that  be, 
Are  blossoms  of  Necessity. 

A  thread  of  Law  runs  through  thy  prayer, 
Stronger  than  iron  cables  are: 
And  Love  and  Longing  toward  her  goal 
Are  pilots  sweet  to  guide  the  soul. 

So  Life  must  live,  and  Soul  must  sail, 
And  Unseen  over  Seen  prevail; 
And  all  God's  argosies  come  to  shore, 
Let  ocean  smile,  or  rage  or  roar. 

And  so,  'mid  storm  or  calm,  my  bark 
With  snowy  wake  still  nears  her  mark; 
Cheerly  the  trades  of  being  blow, 
And  sweeping  down  the  wind  I  go. 

David  A.  Wasson 


84  March   22 


REMEMBER   ME 


R 


EMEMBER  me  when  I  am  gone  away, 
Gone  far  away  into  the  silent  land; 
When  you  can  no  more  hold  me  by  the  hand, 

Nor  I  half  turn  to  go,  yet  turning  stay. 

Remember  me  when  no  more  day  by  day 
You  tell  me  of  our  future  that  you  plann'd: 
Only  remember  me;   you  understand 

It  will  be  late  to  counsel  then  or  pray. 

Yet  if  you  should  forget  me  for  a  while 
And  afterwards  remember,  do  not  grieve: 
For  if  the  darkness  and  corruption  leave 
A  vestige  of  the  thoughts  that  once  I  had, 

Better  by  far  you  should  forget  and  smile 
Than  that  you  should  remember  and  be  sad. 

Christina  Georgina  Rossetti 


March   23  85 


SPIRIT  VISITANTS 

FROM    "IN   MEMORIAM" 

X  J.OW  pure  at  heart  and  sound  in  head, 
With  what  divine  affections  bold, 
Should  be  the  man  whose  thought  would  hold 
An  hour's  communion  with  the  dead. 

In  vain  shalt  thou,  or  any,  call 

The  spirits  from  their  golden  day. 

Except,  like  them,  thou  too  canst  say 
My  spirit  is  at  peace  with  all. 

They  haunt  the  silence  of  the  breast, 

Imaginations  calm  and  fair, 

The  memory  like  a  cloudless  air, 
The  conscience  as  a  sea  at  rest: 

But  when  the  heart  is  full  of  din, 
And  doubt  beside  the  portal  waits, 
They  can  but  listen  at  the  gates 

And  hear  the  household  jar  within. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


86  March   24 


"MY  SORROW   IS   MY  THRONE" 

JLVJ.Y  sorrow  is  my  throne! 

It  lifts  me  from  the  dust  of  earthly  care; 
'Tis  calm  and  peaceful,  though  so  cold  and  lone  — 

And  wider  prospects  stretch  before  me  there. 

My  sorrow  is  my  crown! 

A  glory  round  the  worn  and  aching  brow; 
I  would  not  lay  its  thorny  circlet  down 

For  any  flowers  earth  has  to  offer  now. 

Yet  sometimes  I  could  deem 

I  heard  his  voice,  loved  voice  that  guides  me,  say, 
"The  earth  we  loved  must  never  trivial  seem, 

Although  our  joy  has  passed  from  earth  away. 

"Go  down,  at  my  behest, 

The  smallest,  humblest  kindly  task  to  do; 
/  see  the  thorn-prints;   hide  them  from  the  rest; 

Because  thou  Iov'st  me  so,  love  others  too." 

Lucy  Smith 


March  25  87 


JOYES  OF  HEVENE 

X  HER  is  Iyf  withoute  ony  deth, 
And  ther  is  youthe  withoute  ony  eld; 
And  ther  is  alle  manner  welthe  to  welde; 
And  ther  is  rest  without  ony  travaille; 
And  ther  is  pees  without  ony  strife, 
And  ther  is  alle  manner  Iykinge  of  Iyf:  — 
And  ther  is  bright  somer  ever  to  se, 
And  ther  is  nevere  wynter  in  that  countrie:  — 
And  ther  is  more  worshipe  and  honour, 
Than  evere  had  kynge  other  emperour. 
And  ther  is  grete  melodie  of  aungeles  songe, 
And  ther  is  preysing  hym  amonge. 
And  ther  is  alle  manner  frendshippe  that  may  be, 
And  ther  is  evere  perfect  love  and  charitie; 
And  ther  is  wisdom  without  folye, 
And  ther  is  honeste  without  vilenye. 
All  these  a  man  may  joyes  of  hevene  call; 
As  yette  the  most  sovereyn  joye  of  alle 
Is  the  sighte  of  Goddes  bright  face, 
In  wham  resteth  alle  mannere  grace. 

Richard  Rolle 


88  March   26 


R, 


REMEMBER 


IMFMBER  Him,  the  only  One, 
Now,  ere  the  years  flow  by,  — 
Now,  while  the  smile  is  on  thy  lip, 

The  light  within  thine  eye. 
Now,  ere  for  thee  the  sun  have  lost 

Its  glory  and  its  light, 
And  earth  rejoice  thee  not  with  flowers, 

Nor  with  the  stars  the  night. 
Now,  while  thou  Iovest  earth,  because 

She  is  so  wondrous  fair 
With  daisies  and  with  primroses, 

And  sunlit,  waving  air; 
And  not  because  her  bosom  holds 

Thy  dearest  and  thy  best, 
And  some  day  will  thyself  infold 

In  calm  and  peaceful  rest. 
Now,  while  thou  Iovest  violets, 

Because  mid  grass  they  wave, 
And  not  because  they  bloom  upon 

Some  early-shapen  grave. 

Now,  while  thou  Iovest  music's  strains, 

Because  they  cheer  thy  heart, 
And  not  because  from  aching  eyes 

They  make  the  tear-drops  start. 
Now,  whilst  thou  Iovest  all  on  earth 

And  deemest  all  will  last, 
Before  thy  hope  is  vanished  quite, 

And  every  joy  has  past; 
Remember  Him,  the  only  One, 

Before  the  days  draw  nigh 
When  thou  shalt  have  no  joy  in  them, 

And  praying,  yearn  to  die. 

Emma  Lazarus 


March   27  89 


LAUS   INFANTIUM 


I 


N  praise  of  little  children  I  will  say 
God  first  made  man,  then  found  a  better  way 
For  woman,  but  his  third  way  was  the  best. 
Of  all  created  things,  the  loveliest 
And  most  divine  are  children.     Nothing  here 
Can  be  to  us  more  gracious  or  more  dear. 
And  though,  when  God  saw  all  his  works  were  good, 
There  was  no  rosy  flower  of  babyhood, 
'T  was  said  of  children  in  a  later  day 
That  none  could  enter  Heaven  save  such  as  they. 

The  earth,  which  feels  the  flowering  of  a  thorn, 

Was  glad,  O  little  child,  when  you  were  born; 

The  earth,   which  thrills  when  skylarks  scale  the 

blue, 
Soared  up  itself  to  God's  own  Heaven  in  you; 

And  Heaven,  which  loves  to  lean  down  and  to  glass 
Its  beauty  in  each  dewdrop  on  the  grass,  — 
Heaven  laughed  to  find  your  face  so  pure  and  fair, 
And  left,  O  little  child,  its  reflex  there. 

William  Canton 


90  M arcb   28 


PROGRESS   ETERNAL 

FROM    "THE    REFORMER" 

O    BACKWARD-LOOKING  son  of  time 

The  new  is  old,  the  old  is  new, 
The  cycle  of  a  change  sublime 
Still  sweeping  through. 

So  wisely  taught  the  Indian  seer; 

Destroying  Seva,  forming  Brahm, 
Who  wake  by  turn  Earth's  love  and  fear, 
Are  one,  the  same. 

Idly  as  thou,  in  that  old  day 

Thou  mournest,  did  thy  sire  repine; 
So,  in  his  time,  thy  child  grown  gray 
Shall  sigh  for  thine. 

But  life  shall  on  and  upward  go; 

Th'  eternal  step  of  Progress  beats 

To  that  great  anthem,  calm  and  slow, 

Which  God  repeats. 

Take  heart!  —  the  Waster  builds  again,  — 

A  charmed  life  old  Goodness  hath; 
The  tares  may  perish,  —  but  the  grain 
Is  not  for  death. 

God  works  in  all  things;   all  obey 

His  first  propulsion  from  the  night: 
Wake  thou  and  watch!  —  the  world  is  gray 
With  morning  light! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


Ma  r  c  h   2  9  91 

HIS   PILGRIMAGE 

VJTIVE  me  my  scallop-shell  of  quiet, 

My  staff  of  faith  to  walk  upon, 
My  scrip  of  joy,  immortal  diet, 

My  bottle  of  salvation, 
My  gown  of  glory,  hope's  true  gage; 
And  thus  I'll  take  my  pilgrimage. 

Blood  must  be  my  body's  balmer; 

No  other  balm  will  there  be  given; 
Whilst  my  soul,  like  quiet  palmer, 

Travelleth  towards  the  land  of  heaven; 
Over  the  silver  mountains, 
Where  spring  the  nectar  fountains: 

There  will  I  kiss 

The  bowl  of  bliss; 
And  drink  mine  everlasting  fill 
Upon  every  milken  hill. 
My  soul  will  be  a-dry  before; 
But,  after,  it  will  thirst  no  more. 


E 


The  Conclusion 


,VEN  such  is  Time,  that  takes  in  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  our  all  we  have, 
And  pays  us  but  with  earth  and  dust; 

Who  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave, 
When  we  have  wander'd  all  our  ways, 
Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days; 
But  from  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 
My  God  shall  raise  me  up,  I  trust. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh 


92  Mar  ch   30 


SWEET   IS  THE   ROSE 

FROM    "THE    FAERIE    QUEENe" 

OWEET  is  the  rose,  but  grows  upon  a  brere; 
Sweet  is  the  juniper,  but  sharp  his  bough; 
Sweet  is  the  eglantine,  but  pricketh  near; 
Sweet  is  the  firbloom,  but  his  branches  rough; 
Sweet  is  the  Cyprus,  but  his  rind  is  tough; 
Sweet  is  the  nut,  but  bitter  is  his  pill; 
Sweet  is  the  broom  flower,  but  yet  sour  enough; 
And  sweet  is  moly,  but  his  root  is  ill; 
So,  every  sweet,  with  sour  is  tempered  still, 
That  maketh  it  be  coveted  the  more: 
For  easy  things  that  may  be  got  at  will 
Most  sorts  of  men  do  set  but  little  store. 
Why  then  should  I  account  of  little  pain, 
That  endless  pleasure  shall  unto  me  gain? 

Edmuxd  Spenser 


M  a  r  c  h   3  1  93 


PRAYER 

FROM    "THE    PASSING    OF    ARTHUR" 

ilND  slowly  answer'd  Arthur  from  the  barge: 

"The  old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to  new, 

And  God  fulfils  himself  in  many  ways, 

Lest  one  good  custom  should  corrupt  the  world. 

Comfort  thyself:   what  comfort  is  in  me? 

I  have  Iiv'd  my  life,  and  that  which  I  have  done 

May  He  within  himself  make  pure!    but  thou, 

If  thou  shouldst  never  see  my  face  again, 

Pray  for  my  soul.     More  things  are  wrought  by 

prayer 
Than  this  world  dreams  of.     Wherefore,  let  thy 

voice 
Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day. 
For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 
That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 
If,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer 
Both  for  themselves  and  those  who  call  them  friend? 
For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 
Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God." 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


94 


p  r  i 


I  1 


HOME  THOUGHTS   FROM   ABROAD 


o 


Ht  to  be  in  England  now  that  April's  there 
And  whoever  wakes  in  England  sees,  some  morning, 

unaware, 
That  the  lowest  boughs  and  the  brushwood  sheaf 
Round  the  elm-tree  bole  are  in  tiny  leaf, 
While  the  chaffinch  sings  on  the  orchard  bough 
In  England  —  now! 


II 

And  after  April,  when  May  follows 
And  the  white-throat  builds,  and  all  the  swallows! 
Hark,  where  my  blossom'd  pear-tree  in  the  hedge 
Leans  to  the  field  and  scatters  on  the  clover 
Blossoms  and  dewdrops  —  at  the  bent  spray's 

edge  — 
That's  the  wise  thrush:  he  sings  each  song  twice 

over 
Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture! 

And,  though  the  fields  look  rough  with  hoary  dew, 
All  will  be  gay  when  noontide  wakes  anew 
The  buttercups,  the  little  children's  dower, 
Far  brighter  than  this  gaudy  melon-flower! 

Robert  Browning 


A  p  r  i  I  2  95 


BLOSSOMING  SPRING 

FROM    "iN    MEMORIAM" 


N« 


OW  fades  the  last  long  streak  of  snow, 
Now  burgeons  every  maze  of  quick 
About  the  flowering  squares,  and  thick 
By  ashen  roots  the  violets  blow. 

Now  rings  the  woodland  loud  and  long, 
The  distance  takes  a  lovelier  hue, 
And  drown'd  in  yonder  living  blue 

The  lark  becomes  a  sightless  song. 

Now  dance  the  lights  on  lawn  and  lea, 
The  flocks  are  whiter  down  the  vale, 
And  milkier  every  milky  sail 

On  winding  stream  or  distant  sea; 

Where  now  the  seamew  pipes,  or  dives 
In  yonder  greening  gleam,  and  fly 
The  happy  birds,  that  change  their  sky 

To  build  and  brood;   that  live  their  lives 

From  land  to  land;  and  in  my  breast 
Spring  wakens  too;  and  my  regret 
Becomes  an  April  violet, 

And  buds  and  blossoms  like  the  rest. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


g6  AprilS 


THE  UNSEEN 

FROM    "A    MYSTICAL    BALLAD " 

I  UST  on  the  farther  bound  of  sense, 
^  Unproved  by  outward  evidence, 
But  known  by  a  deep  influence 
Which  through  our  grosser  clay  doth  shine 
With  light  unwaning  and  divine, 
Beyond  where  highest  thought  can  fly 
Stretcheth  the  world  of  Mystery  — 
And  they  not  greatly  overween 
Who  deem  that  nothing  true  hath  been 
Save  the  unspeakable  Unseen. 

One  step  beyond  life's  work-day  things, 
One  more  beat  of  the  soul's  broad  wings, 
One  deeper  sorrow  sometimes  brings 
The  spirit  into  that  great  Vast 
Where  neither  future  is  nor  past; 
None  knoweth  how  he  entered  there, 
But,  waking,  finds  his  spirit  where 
He  thought  an  angel  could  not  soar, 
And,  what  he  called  false  dreams  before, 
The  very  air  about  his  door. 

James  Russell  Lowell 


A  p  r  i  I  4  97 


GOD  AND   MAN 

FROM    "RABBI    BEN    EZRA" 

1  HOUGHTS  hardly  to  be  packed 
Into  a  narrow  act, 

Fancies  that  broke  through  language  and  escaped: 
All  I  could  never  be, 
All,  men  ignored  in  me, 

This,  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher 
shaped. 

Ay,  note  that  Potter's  wheel, 

That  metaphor!    and  feel 

Why  time  spins  fast,  why  passive  lies  our  clay,  — 

Thou,  to  whom  fools  propound, 

When  the  wine  makes  its  round, 

"Since  life  fleets,  all  is  change;   the  Past  gone,  seize 

to-day!" 
Fool !   All  that  is,  at  all, 
Lasts  ever,  past  recall; 

Earth  changes,  but  thy  soul  and  God  stand  sure: 
What  entered  into  thee, 
That  was,  is,  and  shall  be: 
Time's  wheel  runs  back  or  stops:    Potter  and  clay 

endure. 

Robert  Browning 


98  April   5 


THY   WILL,   NOT  MINE 


H 


E  sendeth  sun,  he  sendeth  shower, 
Alike  they're  needful  for  the  flower: 
And  joys  and  tears  alike  are  sent 
To  give  the  soul  fit  nourishment. 
As  comes  to  me  or  cloud  or  sun, 
Father!    thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done! 

Can  loving  children  e'er  reprove 

With  murmurs  whom  they  trust  and  love? 

Creator!    I  would  ever  be 

A  trusting,  loving  child  to  thee: 

As  comes  to  me  or  cloud  or  sun, 

Father!    thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done! 

Oh,  ne'er  will  I  at  life  repine: 
Enough  that  thou  hast  made  it  mine. 
When  falls  the  shadow  cold  of  death 
I  yet  will  sing,  with  parting  breath, 
As  comes  to  me  or  shade  or  sun, 
Father!    thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done! 

Sarah  Flower  Adams 


r  i  I   6  99 


PEACE 

J_yJ_Y  soul,  there  is  a  country 

Far  beyond  the  stars, 
Where  stands  a  winged  sentry 

All  skilful  in  the  wars: 
There,  above  noise  and  danger, 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crown' d  with  smiles, 
And  One  born  in  a  manger 

Commands  the  beauteous  files. 
He  is  thy  gracious  Friend, 

And  —  O  my  soul,  awake!  — 
Did  in  pure  love  descend 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 
If  thou  canst  get  but  thither, 

There  grows  the  flower  of  Peace, 
The  Rose  that  cannot  wither, 

Thy  fortress,  and  thy  ease. 
Leave  then  thy  foolish  ranges; 

For  none  can  thee  secure 
But  One  who  never  changes  — 

Thy  God,  thy  life,  thy  cure. 

Henry  Vaughan 


100 


April   7 


DARWINISM 


W. 


HEN  first  the  unflowering  Fern-forest 
Shadowed  the  dim  lagoons  of  old, 
A  vague  unconscious  long  unrest 

Swayed  the  great  fronds  of  green  and  gold. 

Until  the  flexible  stems  grew  rude, 

The  fronds  began  to  branch  and  bower, 

And  Io!    upon  the  unblossoming  wood 
There  breaks  a  dawn  of  apple-flower. 

Then  on  the  fruitful  Forest-boughs 

For  ages  long  the  unquiet  ape 
Swung  happy  in  his  airy  house 

And  plucked  the  apple  and  sucked  the  grape. 

Until  in  him  at  length  there  stirred 
The  old,  unchanged,  remote  distress, 

That  pierced  his  world  of  wind  and  bird 
With  some  divine  unhappiness. 

Not  Love,  nor  the  wild  fruits  he  sought; 

Nor  the  fierce  battles  of  his  clan 
Could  still  the  unborn  and  aching  thought 

Until  the  brute  became  the  man. 

Long  since.   .  .  .  And  now  the  same  unrest 

Goads  to  the  same  invisible  goal, 
Till  some  new  gift,  undreamed,  unguessed, 

End  the  new  travail  of  the  soul. 

Mrs.  A.  M.  F.  Robinson  Darmesteter 


r  i  I   6  101 


FROM   "THE   WATER-FALL" 

V V  ITH   what   deep   murmurs,    through   Time's 

silent  stealth, 
Dost  thy  transparent,  cool,  and  watery  wealth 

Here  flowing  fall, 

And  chide  and  call, 
As  if  his  liquid,  loose  retinue  stay'd 
Lingering,  and  were  of  this  steep  place  afraid;  — 

The  common  pass, 

As  clear  as  glass, 

All  must  descend 

Not  to  an  end, 
But  quicken'd  by  this  deep  and  rocky  grave, 
Rise  to  a  longer  course,  more  bright  and  brave. 

Dear  stream!    dear  bank!    where  often  I 
Have  sate,  and  pleased  my  pensive  eye; 
Why,  since  each  drop  of  thy  quick  store 
Runs  thither  where  it  flow'd  before, 
Should  poor  souls  fear  a  shade  or  night, 
Who  came  —  sure  —  from  a  sea  of  light? 
Or,  since  those  drops  are  all  sent  back 
So  sure  to  thee  that  none  doth  lack, 
Why  should  frail  flesh  doubt  any  more 
That  what  God  takes  He'll  not  restore? 

Henry  Vaughan 


102  A  p  r  i  I  9 


SHOW   ME   THE   WAY 


S. 


I  HOW  me  the  way,  O  Lord, 

And  make  it  plain: 
I  would  obey  Thy  Word, 

Speak  yet  again: 
I  will  not  take  one  step  until  I  know 
Which  way  it  is  that  Thou  wouldst  have  me  go. 

0  Lord,  I  cannot  see: 
Vouchsafe  one  light: 

The  mist  bewilders  me, 
Impedes  my  sight: 
Hold  Thou  my  hand,  and  lead  me  by  Thy  side; 
I  dare  not  go  alone,  —  be  Thou  my  Guide. 

1  will  be  patient,  Lord, 
Trustful  and  still: 

I  will  not  doubt  Thy  Word; 
My  hopes  fulfil: 
How  can  I  perish,  clinging  to  Thy  side, 
My  Comforter,  my  Saviour,  and  my  Guide. 

Jane  Eupheaiia  Saxby 


AprillO  103 


TEACH  ME  TO  LIVE! 

J,   EACH  me  to  live!     'Tis  easier  far  to  die  — 
Gently  and  silently  to  pass  away  — 
On  earth's  long  night  to  close  the  heavy  eye 
And  waken  in  the  glorious  realms  of  day. 

Teach  me  that  harder  lesson  —  how  to  live, 
To  serve  Thee  in  the  darkest  paths  of  life: 
Arm  me  for  conflict  now,  fresh  vigour  give, 
And  make  me  more  than  conqueror  in  the  strife. 

Teach  me  to  live!     No  idler  let  me  be 
But  in  Thy  service  hand  and  heart  employ, 
Prepared  to  do  Thy  bidding  cheerfully  — 
Be  this  my  highest  and  my  holiest  joy. 

Teach  me  to  live!     With  kindly  words  for  all, 
Wearing  no  cold,  repulsive  brow  of  gloom, 
Waiting  with  cheerful  patience  till  Thy  call 
Summons  my  spirit  to  its  heavenly  home. 

Ellen  Elizabeth  Burman 


104  A  p  r  i  I   1  1 


BATTLE-HYMN  OF  GUSTAVUS 
ADOLPHUS 


B 


»E  not  dismay 'd,  thou  little  flock, 
Although  the  foe's  fierce  battle-shock 

Loud  on  all  sides  assail  thee. 
Though  o'er  thy  fall  they  laugh  secure, 
Their  triumph  cannot  long  endure; 

Let  not  thy  courage  fail  thee. 

Thy  cause  is  God's:   go  at  His  call, 
And  to  His  hand  commit  thy  all; 

Fear  thou  no  ill  impending: 
His  Gideon  shall  arise  for  thee, 
God's  word  and  people  manfully 

In  God's  own  time  defending. 

Our  hope  is  sure  in  Jesus'  might; 
Against  themselves  the  godless  fight, 

Themselves,  not  us,  distressing; 
Shame  and  contempt  their  lot  shall  be; 
God  is  with  us,  with  Him  are  we, 

To  us  belongs  His  blessing. 

Swedish  of  Dr.  Jacob  Fabricius 
Translation  of  Elizabeth  Ruxdle  Charles 


April  12  105 


THE   MORNING  SPLENDOUR 

XNI  OW,  when  the  dusky  shades  of  night,  retreating 
Before  the  sun's  red  banner,  swiftly  flee; 

Now,  when  the  terrors  of  the  dark  are  fleeting, 
O  Lord,  we  lift  our  thankful  hearts  to  Thee,  - — 

To  Thee,  whose  word,  the  fount  of  life  unsealing, 
When  hill  and  dale  in  thickest  darkness  lay, 

Awoke  bright  rays  across  the  dim  earth  stealing, 
And  bade  the  eve  and  morn  complete  the  day. 

Look  from  the  tower  of  heaven,  and  send  to  cheer  us 
Thy  light  and  truth  to  guide  us  onward  still; 

Still  let  Thy  mercy,  as  of  old,  be  near  us, 
And  lead  us  safely  to  Thy  holy  hill. 

So,  when  that  morn  of  endless  light  is  waking, 

And  shades  of  evil  from  its  splendours  flee, 
Safe  may  we  rise,  the  earth's  dark  breast  forsaking, 
Through  all  the  long  bright  day  to  dwell  with 
Thee. 

Latin  of  Gregory  the  Great 
Translator  Unknown 


io6  A  v  r  i  I  13 


THE  COMING  OF  SPRING 

FROM  "ATALANTA  IN  CALYDON  " 

VjOME  with  bows  bent  and  with  emptying  of 
quivers, 

Maiden  most  perfect,  lady  of  light, 
With  a  noise  of  winds  and  many  rivers, 

With  a  clamour  of  waters,  and  with  might; 
Bind  on  thy  sandals,  O  thou  most  fleet, 
Over  the  splendour  and  speed  of  thy  feet; 
For  the  faint  east  quickens,  the  wan  west  shivers, 

Round  the  feet  of  the  day  and  the  feet  of  the  night. 

Where  shall  we  find  her,  how  shall  we  sing  to  her, 
Fold  our  hands  round  her  knees,  and  cling? 

O  that  man's  heart  were  as  fire  and  could  spring  to 
her, 
Fire,  or  the  strength  of  the  streams  that  spring! 

For  the  stars  and  the  winds  are  unto  her 

As  raiment,  as  songs  of  the  harp-player; 

For  the  risen  stars  and  the  fallen  cling  to  her, 

And  the  southwest-wind  and  the  west-wind  sing*. 

For  winter's  rains  and  ruins  are  over, 
And  all  the  season  of  snows  and  sins; 

The  days  dividing  lover  and  lover, 

The  light  that  loses,  the  night  that  wins; 

And  time  remember'd  is  grief  forgotten, 

And  frosts  are  slain  and  flowers  begotten, 

And  in  green  underwood  and  cover 
Blossom  by  blossom  the  spring  begins. 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne 


A  p  r  i  I  1  4  107 


THE  KINGDOM 

I   ylFT  up  your  heads,  rejoice, 
Redemption  draweth  nigh: 
Now  breathes  a  softer  air, 
Now  shines  a  milder  sky; 
The  early  trees  put  forth 
Their  new  and  tender  leaf; 
Hushed  is  the  morning  wind 
That  told  of  winter's  grief. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  rejoice, 
Redemption  draweth  nigh: 
Now  mount  the  laden  clouds, 
Now  flames  the  darkening  sky. 
The  early  scattered  drops 
Descend  with  heavy  fall, 
And  to  the  waiting  earth 
The  hidden  thunders  call. 

He  comes,  the  wide  world's  King; 
He  comes,  the  true  heart's  Friend; 
New  gladness  to  begin 
And  ancient  wrong  to  end. 
He  comes  to  fill  with  light 
The  weary  waiting  jye: 
Lift  up  your  heads,  rejoice, 
Redemption  draweth  nigh. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


io8 


April  15 


THE   THROSTLE 

jUMMER  is  coming,  summer  is  coming, 
I  know  it,  I  know  it,  I  know  it. 

Light  again,  leaf  again,  life  again,  love  again. 
Yes,  my  wild  little  Poet. 

Sing  the  new  year  in  under  the  blue. 

Last  year  you  sung  it  as  gladly. 
'New,  new,  new,  new!"     Is  it  then  so  new 

That  you  should  carol  so  madly? 

'Love  again,  song  again,  nest  again,  young 
again," 

Never  a  prophet  so  crazy! 
And  hardly  a  daisy  as  yet,  little  friend, 

See,  there  is  hardly  a  daisy. 


"Here  again,  here,  here,  here,  happy  year!" 
O  warble  unchidden,  unbidden! 
Summer  is  coming,  is  coming,  my  dear, 
And  all  the  winters  are  hidden. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


April  16  109 


THE  SPRING-TIDE  HOUR 

1  HE  spring-tide  hour 

Brings  leaf  and  flower, 
With  songs  of  life  and  love; 

And  many  a  lay 

Wears  out  the  day 
In  many  a  leafy  grove: 

Bird,  flow'r,  and  tree 

Seem  to  agree 
Their  choicest  gifts  to  bring; 

But  this  poor  heart 

Bears  not  its  part, 
In  it  there  is  no  spring. 

Lord!  let  Thy  love 

Fresh  from  above, 
Soft  as  the  south  wind  blow; 

Call  forth  its  bloom, 

Wake  its  perfume, 
And  bid  its  spices  flow! 

And  when  Thy  voice 

Makes  earth  rejoice, 
And  the  hills  laugh  and  sing; 

Lord,  make  this  heart 

To  bear  its  part, 
And  join  the  praise  of  spring! 

John  Samuel  Bewley  Monseli 


1 1  o  A  p  r  i  I   1  7 


THE  TORCH   OF   LOVE 

FROM    "THE    BURIED    LIFE" 

JjUT  often,  in  the  world's  most  crowded  streets, 

But  often,  in  the  din  of  strife, 

There  rises  an  unspeakable  desire 

After  the  knowledge  of  our  buried  life; 

A  thirst  to  spend  our  fire  and  restless  force 

In  tracking  out  our  true,  original  course; 

A  longing  to  inquire 

Into  the  mystery  of  this  heart  which  beats 

So  wild,  so  deep  in  us  —  to  know 

Whence  our  lives  come  and  where  they  go. 

And  many  a  man  in  his  own  breast  then  delves, 

But  deep  enough,  alas!  none  ever  mines. 

Only  —  but  this  is  rare  — 

When  a  beloved  hand  is  laid  in  ours, 

When,  jaded  with  the  rush  and  glare 

Of  the  interminable  hours, 

Our  eyes  can  in  another's  eyes  read  clear, 

When  our  world  deafened  ear 

Is  by  the  tones  of  a  loved  voice  caressed,  — 

A  bolt  is  shot  back  somewhere  in  our  breast, 

And  a  lost  pulse  of  feeling  stirs  again. 

The  eyes  sink  inward  and  the  heart  lies  plain, 

And  what  we  mean,  we  say,  and  what  we  would,  we 

know. 
A  man  becomes  aware  of  his  life's  flow, 
And  hears  its  winding  murmur  and  he  sees 
The  meadow  where  it  glides,  the  sun,  the  breeze. 

Matthew  Arnold 


A p r i  I   1 8  in 


BE  THOU  CONTENT 

J3E  thou  content;  be  still  before 

Hfs  face,  at  whose  right  hand  doth  reign 
Fulness  of  joy  for  evermore, 

Without  whom  all  thy  toil  is  vain. 
He  is  thy  living  spring,  thy  sun,  whose  rays 
Make  glad  with  life  and  light  thy  dreary  days. 
Be  thou  content. 

In  Him  is  comfort,  light,  and  grace, 

And  changeless  love  beyond  our  thought; 
The  sorest  pang,  the  worst  disgrace, 
If  He  is  there,  shall  harm  thee  not. 
He  can  lift  off  thy  cross,  and  loose  thy  bands, 
And  calm  thy  fears,  nay,  death  is  in  His  hands. 
Be  thou  content. 

Or  art  thou  friendless  and  alone, 

Hast  none  in  whom  thou  canst  confide? 
God  careth  for  thee,  lonely  one, 
Comfort  and  help  will  He  provide. 
He  sees  thy  sorrows  and  thy  hidden  grief, 
He  knoweth  when  to  send  thee  quick  relief; 
Be  thou  content. 

Paul  Gerhakdt 


ii2  A  p  r  i  I   1  9 


EASTER 


M- 


OST  glorious  Lord  of  Lyfe!  that,  on  this  day 
Didst  make  Thy  triumph  over  death  and  sin 
And,  having  harrowd  hell,  didst  bring  away 
Captivity  thence  captive,  us  to  win: 
This  joyous  day,  deare  Lord,  with  joy  begin; 
And  grant  that  we,  for  whom  thou  diddest  dye, 
Being  with  Thy  deare  blood  dene  washt  from  sin, 
May  live  for  ever  in  felicity! 
And  that  Thy  love  we  weighing  worthily, 
May  likewise  love  Thee  for  the  same  againe; 
And  for  Thy  sake,  that  all  Iyke  deare  didst  buy, 
With  love  may  one  another  entertayne! 

So  let  us  love,  deare  Love,  Iyke  as  we  ought, 
—  Love  is  the  lesson  which  the  Lord  us  taught. 

Edmund  Spenser 


A  p  r  i  I  2  0  113 


COMFORT 

OPEAK  low  to  me,  my  Saviour,  low  and  sweet 
From  out  the  hallelujahs,  sweet  and  low, 
Lest  I  should  fear  and  fall,  and  miss  Thee  so 
Who  art  not  missed  by  any  that  entreat. 
Speak  to  me  as  to  Alary  at  Thy  feet! 
And  if  no  precious  gums  my  hands  bestow, 
Let  my  tears  drop  like  amber  while  I  go 
In  reach  of  Thy  divinest  voice  complete 
In  humanest  affection  —  thus,  in  sooth, 
To  lose  the  sense  of  losing.     As  a  child, 
Whose  song-bird  seeks  the  wood  for  evermore, 
Is  sung  to  in  its  stead  by  mother's  mouth 
Till,  sinking  on  her  breast,  love-reconciled, 
He  sleeps  the  faster  that  he  wept  before. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


U4  A  pr  i I   2 1 


SWEET  AFTER  SHOWERS 

FROM    "IN    MEMORIAM" 

OWEET  after  showers,  ambrosial  air, 
That  rollest  from  the  gorgeous  gloom 
Of  evening  over  brake  and  bloom 

And  meadow,  slowly  breathing  bare 

The  round  of  space,  and  rapt  below 
Thro'  all  the  dewy-tassell'd  wood, 
And  shadowing  down  the  horned  flood 

In  ripples,  fan  my  brows  and  blow 

The  fever  from  my  cheek,  and  sigh 

The  full  new  life  that  feeds  thy  breath 
Throughout  my  frame,  till  Doubt  and  Death, 

III  brethren,  let  the  fancy  fly 

From  belt  to  belt  of  crimson  seas 
On  leagues  of  odour  streaming  far, 
To  where  in  yonder  orient  star 

A  hundred  spirits  whisper  "  Peace." 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


A  p  r  i  I  2  2  115 


THE  SEED  GROWING  SECRETLY 


D. 


'EAR,  secret  greenness!  nurst  below 
Tempests  and  winds  and  winter  nights! 
Vex  not,  that  but  One  sees  thee  grow; 
That  One  made  all  these  lesser  lights. 

What  needs  a  conscience  calm  and  bright 

Within  itself,  an  outward  test? 
Who  breaks  his  glass,  to  take  more  light, 

Makes  way  for  storms  into  his  rest. 

Then  bless  thy  secret  growth,  nor  catch 
At  noise,  but  thrive  unseen  and  dumb; 

Keep  clean,  bear  fruit,  earn  life,  and  watch 
Till  the  white- winged  reapers  come! 

Henry  Vaughan 


n6  April  23 


SHAKESPEARE 

DIED    APRIL    23,     l6l6 

V^/THERS  abide  our  question.     Thou  art  free. 
We  ask  and  ask:  Thou  smilest  and  art  still, 
Out-topping  knowledge.     For  the  loftiest  hill 
That  to  the  stars  uncrown  his  majesty, 
Planting  his  steadfast  footsteps  in  the  sea, 
Making  the  heaven  of  heavens  his  dwelling-place, 
Spares  but  the  cloudy  border  of  his  base 
To  the  foil'd  searching  of  mortality; 
And  thou,  who  didst  the  stars  and  sunbeams  know, 
Self-schooI'd,    self-scann'd,    self-honoured,    self- 
secure, 
Didst  walk  on  earth  unguess'd  at.     Better  so! 
All  pains  the  immortal  spirit  must  endure, 

All  weakness  that  impairs,  all  griefs  that  bow, 
Find  their  sole  voice  in  that  victorious  brow. 

Matthew  Arnold 


A  p  r  i  I  2  4  117 


AT  STRATFORD-ON-AVON 

Shakespeare,  thy,egaey  of  Peer,ess  song 

Reveals  mankind  in  every  age  and  place, 

In  every  joy,  in  every  grief  and  wrong: 

'Tis  England's  legacy  to  all  our  race. 

Little  we  know  of  all  thine  inner  life, 

Little  of  all  thy  swift,  thy  wondrous  years  — 

Years  filled  with  toil,  rich  years  whose  days  were  rife 

With  strains  that  bring  us  mirth,  that  bring  us  tears. 

Little  we  know,  and  yet  this  much  we  know, 

Sense  was  thy  guiding  star  —  sense  guided  thee 

To  live  in  this  thy  Stratford  long  ago, 

To  live  content  in  calm  simplicity; 

Greatest  of  those  who  wrought  with  soul  aflame 

At  honest  daily  work  —  then  found  it  fame. 

Mackenzie  Bell 


u8  April  25 


OUR   LIVING  DEAD 


G 


'OD  of  the  living,  in  Whose  eyes 
Unveil'd  Thy  whole  creation  lies; 
All  souls  are  Thine;  we  must  not  say 
That  those  are  dead  who  pass  away; 
From  this  our  world  of  flesh  set  free, 
We  know  them  living  unto  Thee. 

Released  from  earthly  toil  and  strife, 

With  Thee  is  hidden  still  their  life; 

Thine  are  their  thoughts,  their  works,  their  powers, 

All  Thine,  and  yet  most  truly  ours; 

For  well  we  know,  where'er  they  be, 

Our  dead  are  living  unto  Thee. 

Not  spilt  like  water  on  the  ground, 
Not  wrapp'd  in  dreamless  sleep  profound, 
Not  wandering  in  unknown  despair 
Beyond  Thy  voice,  Thine  arm,  Thy  care; 
Not  left  to  lie  like  fallen  tree; 
Not  dead,  but  living  unto  Thee. 

Thy  word  is  true,  Thy  will  is  just; 

To  Thee  we  leave  them,  Lord,  in  trust; 

And  bless  Thee  for  the  love  which  gave 

Thy  Son  to  fill  a  human  grave, 

That  none  might  fear  that  world  to  see, 

Where  all  are  living  unto  Thee. 

John  Ellerton 


A  p  r  i  I  2  6  119 


LIFE'S  MYSTERY 

I   >IFE'S  mystery,  —  deep,  restless  as  the  ocean,  — 

Hath  surged  and  wailed  for  ages  to  and~fro; 
Earth's  generations  watch  its  ceaseless  motion 

As  in  and  out  its  hollow  moanings  flow; 
Shivering  and  yearning  by  that  unknown  sea, 
Let  my  soul  calm  itself,  O  Christ,  in  thee! 

The  many  waves  of  thought,  the  mighty  tides, 
The  ground-swell  that  rolls  up  from  other  lands, 

From  far-off  worlds,  from  dim  eternal  shores 

Whose  echo  dashes  on  life's  wave-worn  strands,  — 

This  vague,  dark  tumult  of  the  inner  sea 

Grows  calm,  grows  bright,  O  risen  Lord,  in  thee! 

Thy  pierced  hand  guides  the  mysterious  wheels; 
Thy  thorn-crowned  brow  now  wears  the  crown  of 
power; 
And  when  the  dark  enigma  presseth  sore 

Thy  patient  voice  saith,    "Watch  with  me  one 
hour!" 
As  sinks  the  moaning  river  in  the  sea 
In  silver  peace,  —  so  sinks  my  soul  in  Thee! 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 


J 


120  Avril   2  7 


PERSEVERANCE 

J\  SWALLOW  in  the  spring 

Came  to  our  granary,  and  'neath  the  eaves 
Essayed  to  make  a  nest,  and  there  did  bring 
Wet  earth  and  straw  and  leaves. 

Day  after  day  she  toiled 
With  patient  art,  but  ere  her  work  was  crowned, 
Some  sad  mishap  the  tiny  fabric  spoiled, 

And  dashed  it  to  the  ground. 

She  found  the  ruin  wrought, 
But,  not  cast  down,  forth  from  the  place  she  flew, 
And  with  her  mate  fresh  earth  and  grasses  brought 

And  built  her  nest  anew. 

But  scarcely  had  she  placed 
The  last  soft  feather  on  its  ample  floor; 
When  wicked  hand,  or  chance,  again  laid  waste 

And  wrought  the  ruin  o'er. 

But  still  her  heart  she  kept, 
And  toiled  again,  —  and  last  night,  hearing  calls, 
I  looked,  —  and  Io!  three  little  swallows  slept 

Within  the  earth-made  walls. 

What  truth  is  here,  O  man! 
Hath  hope  been  smitten  in  its  early  dawn? 
Have  clouds  o'ercast  thy  purpose,  trust,  or  plan? 

Have  faith,  and  struggle  on! 

R.  S.  S.  Axdros 


A  pril  2  8  i2i 


NATURE'S   MONITIONS 

FROM    "DEVOTIONAL    INCITEMENTS' 


E 


,VERMORE,  through  years  renew'd 
In  undisturb'd  vicissitude 
Of  seasons  balancing  their  flight 
On  the  swift  wings  of  day  and  night, 
Kind  Nature  keeps  a  heavenly  door 
Wide  open  for  the  scatter'd  Poor. 
Where  flower-breathed  incense  to  the  skies 
Is  wafted  in  mute  harmonies; 
And  ground  fresh-cloven  by  the  plough 
Is  fragrant  with  a  humbler  vow; 
Where  birds  and  brooks  from  leafy  dells 
Chime  forth  unwearied  canticles, 
And  vapours  magnify  and  spread 
The  glory  of  the  sun's  bright  head:  — 
Still  constant  in  her  worship,  still 
Conforming  to  the  eternal  Will, 
Whether  men  sow  or  reap  the  fields, 
Divine  monition  Nature  yields, 
That  not  by  bread  alone  we  live, 
Or  what  a  hand  of  flesh  can  give; 
That  every  day  should  leave  some  part 
Free  for  a  sabbath  of  the  heart: 
So  shall  the  seventh  be  truly  blest, 
From  morn  to  eve,  with  hallow'd  rest. 

William  Wordsworth 


122  April29 


MORNING  HYMN 

SwEETMor„Ifrom  counts  cups  of  go,d 

Thou  Iiftest  reverently  on  high 
More  incense  fine  than  earth  can  hold, 

To  fill  the  sky. 

One  interfusion  wide  of  love, 

Thine  airs  and  odors  moist  ascend, 

And  'mid  the  azure  depths  above, 
With  light  they  blend. 

The  lark,  by  his  own  carol  blest, 

From  thy  green  arbors  eager  springs; 

And  his  large  heart  in  little  breast 
Exulting  sings. 

In  man,  O  Morn!  a  loftier  good, 

With  conscious  blessing,  fills  the  soul, 

A  life  by  reason  understood, 
Which  metes  the  whole. 


Like  earth,  awake,  and  warm  and  bright, 
With  joy  the  spirit  moves  and  burns; 

So  up  to  Thee,  O  Fount  of  Light! 
Our  light  returns. 

John  Sterling 


April  3  0  123 


DAFFODILS 

X    WANDERED  lonely  as  a  cloud 
That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 
When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 
A  host,  of  golden  daffodils; 
Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees, 
Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 
And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way, 
They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  a  bay: 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced;  but  they 

Out-did  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee: 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay, 

In  such  a  jocund  company: 

I  gazed  —  and  gazed  —  but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought: 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

William  Wordsworth 


124  May  1 


AUTHORITY 

JL/AUNCHED  upon  ether  float  the  worlds  secure. 

Naught  hath  the  truthful  Maker  to  conceal. 

No  trestle-work  of  adamant  or  steel 

Is  that  high  firmament  where  these  endure. 

Patient,  majestic,  round  their  cynosure 

In  secular  procession  see  them  wheel; 

Self-poised,  but  not  self-centred,  for  they  feel 

In  each  tense  fibre  one  all-conquering  lure. 

And  need  I  fret  me,  Father,  for  that  Thou 

Dost  will  the  weightiest  verities  to  swing 

On  viewless  orbits?     Nay,  henceforth  I  cleave 

More  firmly  to  the  Credo;   and  my  vow 

With  readier  footstep  to  thine  altar  bring, 

As  one  who  counts  it  freedom  to  believe. 

William  Reed  Huntington 


May  2  125 


THE   PLOUGH 

A    LANDSCAPE    IN    BERKSHIRE 

/iBOVE  yOn  sombre  swell  of  land 
Thou  see'st  the  dawn's  grave  orange  hue, 

With  one  pale  streak  like  yellow  sand, 
And  over  that  a  vein  of  blue. 

The  air  is  cold  above  the  woods; 

All  silent  is  the  earth  and  sky, 
Except  with  his  own  lonely  moods 

The  blackbird  holds  a  colloquy. 

Over  the  broad  hill  creeps  a  beam, 

Like  hope  that  gilds  a  good  man's  brow; 

And  now  ascends  the  nostril-stream 
Of  stalwart  horses  come  to  plough. 

Ye  rigid  Ploughmen,  bear  in  mind 

Your  labour  is  for  future  hours: 
Advance  —  spare  not  —  nor  look  behind  — 

Plough  deep  and  straight  with  all  your  powers! 
Richard  Henry  Horne 


126  May  3 


TO  THE   DANDELION 

\_  yEAR  common  flower,  that  growest  beside  the 

way,    . 
Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold, 

First  pledge  of  blithesome  May, 
Which  children  pluck,  and,  full  of  pride,  uphold, 
High-hearted  buccaneers,  o'er  joyed  that  they 
An  Eldorado  in  the  grass  have  found, 

Which  not  the  rich  earth's  ample  round 
May  match  in  wealth,  —  thou  art  more  dear  to  me 
Than  all  the  prouder  summer-blooms  may  be. 

Gold  such  as  thine  ne'er  drew  the  Spanish  prow 
Through  the  primeval  hush  of  Indian  seas, 

Nor  wrinkled  the  lean  brow 
Of  age,  to  rob  the  lover's  heart  of  ease; 

'Tis  the  spring's  largess,  which  she  scatters  now 
To  rich  and  poor  alike,  with  lavish  hand, 
Though  most  hearts  never  understand 
To  take  it  at  God's  value,  but  pass  by 
The  offered  wealth  with  unrewarded  eye. 

How  like  a  prodigal  doth  nature  seem, 
When  thou,  for  all  thy  gold,  so  common  art! 

Thou  teachest  me  to  deem 
More  sacredly  of  every  human  heart, 

Since  each  reflects  in  joy  its  scanty  gleam 
Of  heaven,  and  could  some  wondrous  secret  show, 
Did  we  but  pay  the  love  we  owe, 
And  with  a  child's  undoubting  wisdom  look 
On  all  these  living  pages  of  God's  book. 

James  Russell  Lowell 


May  4  127 


PATIENCE 

X3E  patient!  oh,  be  patient!  Put  your  ear  against 

the  earth; 
Listen   there  how  noiselessly  the  germ  o'  the  seed 

has  birth  — 
How  noiselessly  and  gently  it  upheaves  its  little 

way, 
Till  it  parts  the  scarcely  broken  ground,  and  the 

blade  stands  up  in  the  day. 

Be   patient!    oh,  be   patient  —  go    and   watch   the 

wheat  ears  grow  — 
So  imperceptibly  that  ye  can  mark  nor  change  nor 

throe  — 
Day  after  day,  day  after  day,  till  the  ear  is  fully 

grown, 
And  then  again  day  after  day,  till  the  ripened  field 

is  brown. 

Be    patient!    oh,    be    patient!  —  though    yet    our 

hopes  are  green, 
The    harvest-fields    of   freedom    shall    be    crowned 

with  sunny  sheen. 
Be  ripening!  be  ripening!  —  mature  your  silent  way, 
Till  the  whole  broad  land  is  tongued  with  fire  on 

freedom's  harvest  day! 

Richard  Chevenix  Trench 


128  May   5 


SONG  OF  THE  SILENT  LAND 


I 


NTO  the  Silent  Land! 
Ah!  who  shall  lead  us  thither? 
Clouds  in  the  evening  sky  more  darkly  gather, 
And  shattered  wrecks  lie  thicker  on  the  strand. 
Who  leads  us  with  a  gentle  hand 
Thither,  O  thither, 
Into  the  Silent  Land? 

Into  the  Silent  Land! 

To  you,  ye  boundless  regions 

Of  all  perfection!  Tender  morning  visions 

Of  beauteous  souls!     The  Future's  pledge  and 

band 
Who  in  Life's  battle  firm  doth  stand, 
Shall  bear  Hope's  tender  blossoms 
Into  the  Silent  Land! 

OLand!  O  Land! 

For  all  the  broken-hearted 

The  mildest  herald  by  our  fate  allotted, 

Beckons,  and  with  inverted  torch  doth  stand 

To  lead  us  with  a  gentle  hand 

Into  the  land  of  the  great  Departed, 

Into  the  Silent  Land! 

German  of  Johann  G.  von  Salis 
Translation  of  H.  W.  Longfellow 


May  6  129 


THE  OTHER  WORLD 


I 


T  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud, 
The  world  we  do  not  see; 
Yet  the  sweet  closing  of  an  eye 
May  bring  us  there  to  be. 


Its  gentle  breezes  fan  our  cheeks 

Amid  our  worldly  cares; 
Its  gentle  voices  whisper  love, 

And  mingle  with  our  prayers. 

Sweet  hearts  around  us  throb  and  beat, 
Sweet  helping  hands  are  stirred, 

And  palpitates  the  veil  between, 
With  breathings  almost  heard. 

Sweet  souls  around  us!   watch  us  still, 

Press  nearer  to  our  side; 
Into  our  thoughts,  into  our  prayers, 

With  gentle  helping  glide. 

Let  death  between  us  be  as  naught, 

A  dried  and  vanished  stream; 
Your  joy  be  the  reality, 

Our  suffering  life  the  dream. 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 


130  May   7 


THE  LARGER   HOPE 

FROM    "IN    MEMORIA.m" 


T, 


HE  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole 
No  life  may  fail  beyond  the  grave, 
Derives  it  not  from  what  we  have 
The  Iikest  God  within  the  soul? 

Are  God  and  Nature  then  at  strife, 
That  Nature  lends  such  evil  dreams? 
So  careful  of  the  type  she  seems, 

So  careless  of  the  single  life; 

That  I,  considering  everywhere 
Her  secret  meaning  in  her  deeds, 
And  finding  that  of  fifty  seeds 

She  often  brings  but  one  to  bear, 

I  falter  where  I  firmly  trod, 

And  falling  with  my  weight  of  cares 
Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 

That  slope  thro'  darkness  up  to  God, 

I  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope, 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and  call 
To  what  I  feel  is  Lord  of  all, 

And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


May  8  131 


STRONG  SON  OF  GOD 

FROM    "iN    MEMORIAM  " 

OTRONG  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 
Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  Thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace, 

Believing  where  we  cannot  prove; 

Thou  seemest  human  and  divine, 
The  highest,  holiest  manhood,  Thou; 
Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how; 

Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  Thine. 

Our  little  systems  have  their  day; 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be; 

They  are  but  broken  lights  of  Thee, 
And  Thou,  oh  Lord,  art  more  then  they. 

We  have  but  faith:   we  cannot  know; 

For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see; 

And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  Thee, 
A  beam  in  darkness:   let  it  grow. 

Forgive  these  wild  and  wandering  cries, 
Confusions  of  a  wasted  youth: 
Forgiye  them  where  they  fail  in  truth, 

And  in  thy  wisdom  make  me  wise. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


132  May   9 


MAY  AND  THE   POETS 

X.  HERE  is  May  in  books  forever; 
May  will  part  from  Spenser  never; 
May's  in  Milton,  May's  in  Prior, 
May's  in  Chaucer,  Thomson,  Dyer; 
May's  in  all  the  Italian  books:  — 
She  has  old  and  modern  nooks, 
Where  she  sleeps  with  nymphs  and  elves, 
In  happy  places  they  call  shelves, 
And  will  rise  and  dress  your  rooms 
With  a  drapery  thick  with  blooms. 
Come,  ye  rains,  then  if  ye  will, 
May's  at  home,  and  with  me  still; 
But  come  rather,  thou,  good  weather, 
And  find  us  in  the  fields  together. 

Leigh  Hunt 


May  10  133 


MORNING 

FROM    "L'ALLEGRO" 

SOMETIME  walking,  not  unseen, 
By  hedgerow  elms,  on  hillocks  green, 
Right  against  the  eastern  gate 
Where  the  great  Sun  begins  his  state, 
Robed  in  flames  and  amber  light, 
The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight; 
While  the  ploughman  near  at  hand 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 
And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 
And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe, 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures, 
Wrhilst  the  landscape  round  it  measures: 
Russet  lawns  and  fallows  grey, 
Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray; 
Mountains  on  whose  barren  breast 
The  labouring  clouds  do  often  rest; 
Meadows  trim,  with  daisies  pied, 
Shallow  brooks,  and  rivers  wide; 
Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees, 
Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies, 
The  cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes. 

John  Milton 


134  May   1  1 


TO  THE  CUCKOO 


H 


AIL,  beauteous  stranger  of  the  grove! 
Thou  messenger  of  spring! 
Now  Heaven  repairs  thy  rural  seat, 
And  woods  thy  welcome  sing. 

What  time  the  daisy  decks  the  green, 

Thy  certain  voice  we  hear. 
Hast  thou  a  star  to  guide  thy  path, 

Or  mark  the  rolling  year? 

Delightful  visitant!   with  thee 

I  hail  the  time  of  flowers, 
And  hear  the  sound  of  music  sweet 

From  birds  among  the  bowers. 

Sweet  bird!   thy  bower  is  ever  green, 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song, 

No  winter  in  thy  year! 

O,  could  I  fly,  I'd  fly  with  thee! 

We'd  make,  with  joyful  wing, 
Our  annual  visit  o'er  the  globe, 

Companions  of  the  Spring. 

John  Logan 


May  12  135 


SPRING  SWEETNESS 

FROM    "DEDICATION" 


I 


STOOD  tiptoe  upon  a  little  hill, 
The  air  was  cooling,  and  so  very  still, 
That  the  sweet  buds  which  with  a  modest  pride 
Pull  droopingly,  in  slanting  curve  aside, 
Their  scantly-Ieaved,  and  finely-tapering  stems, 
Had  not  yet  lost  their  starry  diadems 
Caught  from  the  early  sobbing  of  the  morn. 
The  clouds  were  pure  and  white  as  flocks  new-shorn, 
And  fresh  from  the  clear  brook;    sweetly  they  slept 
On  the  blue  fields  of  heaven,  and  then  there  crept 
A  little  noiseless  noise  among  the  leaves, 
Born  of  the  very  sigh  that  silence  heaves; 
For  not  the  faintest  motion  could  be  seen 
Of  all  the  shades  that  slanted  o'er  the  green. 
There  was  wide  wandering  for  the  greediest  eye, 
To  peer  about  upon  variety; 
Far  round  the  horizon's  crystal  air  to  skim, 
And  trace  the  dwindled  edgings  of  its  brim; 
To  picture  out  the  quaint  and  curious  bending 
Of  a  fresh  woodland  alley  never-ending: 
Or  by  the  bowery  clefts,  and  leafy  shelves, 
Guess  where  the  jaunty  streams  refresh  themselves. 
To  where  the  hurrying  freshnesses  aye  preach 
A  natural  sermon  o'er  their  pebbly  beds. 

John  Keats 


136  May   1  3 


ON  THE  MOUNT 

OTAY,  Master,  stay  upon  this  heavenly  hill: 
A  little  longer  let  us  linger  still; 
With  these  three  mighty  ones  of  old  beside, 
Near  to  the  Awful  Presence  still  abide; 
Before  the  throne  of  light  we  trembling  stand, 
And  catch  a  glimpse  into  the  spirit-land. 

Stay,  Master,  stay!   We  breathe  a  purer  air; 
This  life  is  not  the  life  that  waits  us  there: 
Thoughts,  feelings,  flashes,  glimpses  come  and  go: 
We  cannot  speak  them  —  nay,  we  do  not  know; 
Wrapt  in  this  cloud  of  light  we  seem  to  be 
The  thing  we  fain  would  grow  —  eternally. 

"No!"  saith  the  Lord,  "the  hour  is  past,  —  we  go; 
Our  home,  our  life,  our  duties  lie  below. 
While  here  we  kneel  upon  the  mount  of  prayer, 
The  plough  lies  waiting  in  the  furrow  there! 
Here  we  sought  God  that  we  might  know  His  will: 
There  we   must   do   it,  —  serve   Him,  —  seek   Him 
still." 

If  man  aspires  to  reach  the  throne  of  God, 
O'er  the  dull  plains  of  earth  must  lie  the  road. 
He  who  does  best  his  lowly  duty  here 
Shall  mount  the  highest  in  a  nobler  sphere. 
At  God's  own  feet  our  spirits  seek  their  rest, 
And  he  is  nearest  Him  who  serves  Him  best. 

Samuel  Greg 


May  1  4  137 


LABOR 

FROM  "LABORARE  EST  ORARE" 

1    yAROR  is  life!   'tis  the  still  water  faileth; 
Idleness  ever  despaireth,  bewaileth; 
Keep  the  watch  wound,  or  the  dark  rust  assaileth; 

Flowers  droop  and  die  in  the  stillness  of  noon. 
Labor  is  glory!  —  the  flying  cloud  lightens; 
Only  the  waving  wing  changes  and  brightens; 
Idle  hearts  only  the  dark  future  frightens; 

Play  the  sweet  keys,  wouldst  thou  keep  them  in 
tune! 

Labor  is  rest  —  from  the  sorrows  that  greet  us; 
Rest  from  all  petty  vexations  that  meet  us; 
Rest  from  sin-promptings  that  ever  entreat  us; 

Rest  from  world-sirens  that  lure  us  to  ill. 
Work,  —  and  pure  slumbers  shall  wait  on  thy  pillow; 
Work,  — thou  shalt  ride  over  Care's  coming  billow; 
Lie  not  down  wearied  'neath  Woe's  weeping  willow, 

Work  with  a  stout  heart  and  resolute  will! 

Droop  not,  —  though  shame,  sin,  and  anguish  are 

round  thee! 
Bravely  fling  off  the  cold  chain  that  hath  bound  thee! 
Look  to  the  pure  heaven  smiling  beyond  thee! 

Rest  not  content  in  thy  darkness,  —  a  clod! 
Work  for  some  good,  be  it  ever  so  slowly! 
Cherish  some  flower,  be  it  ever  so  lowly! 
Labor!  —  all  labor  is  noble  and  holy; 

Let  thy  great  deed  be  thy  prayer  to  thy  God. 
Frances  Sargent  Osgood 


138  May  15 


A  CONTEMPLATION   UPON   FLOWERS 


B 


RAVE  flowers  —  that  I  could  gallant  it  like  you, 

And  be  as  little  vain! 
You  come  abroad,  and  make  a  harmless  show, 

And  to  your  beds  of  earth  again. 
You  are  not  proud:   you  know  your  birth: 
For  your  embroider'd  garments  are  from  earth. 

You  do  obey  your  months  and  times,  but  I 

Would  have  it  ever  Spring: 
My  fate  would  know  no  Winter,  never  die, 

Nor  think  of  such  a  thing. 
O  that  I  could  my  bed  of  earth  but  view 
And  smile,  and  look  as  cheerfully  as  you! 

O  teach  me  to  see  Death  and  not  to  fear, 

But  rather  to  take  truce! 
How  often  have  I  seen  you  at  a  bier, 

And  there  look  fresh  and  spruce! 
You   fragrant   flowers!     then   teach   me,    that   my 

breath 
Like  yours  may  sweeten  and  perfume  my  death. 

Bishop  Henry  King 


May  1  6  139 


THE  USE  OF  FLOWERS 


G« 


TOD  might  have  bade  the  earth  bring  forth 

Enough  for  great  and  small, 
The  oak-tree  and  the  cedar-tree, 

Without  a  flower  at  all. 
We  might  have  had  enough,  enough 

For  every  want  of  ours, 
For  luxury,  medicine,  and  toil, 

And  yet  have  had  no  flowers. 

Then  wherefore,  wherefore  were  they  made, 

All  dyed  with  rainbow  light, 
All  fashioned  with  supremest  grace, 

Upsp ringing  day  and  night:  — 
Springing  in  valleys  green  and  low, 

And  on  the  mountains  high, 
And  in  the  silent  wilderness 

Where  no  man  passes  by? 

Our  outward  life  requires  them  not,  — 

Then  wherefore  had  they  birth?  — 
To  minister  delight  to  man, 

To  beautify  the  earth; 
To  comfort  man,  — to  whisper  hope, 

Whene'er  his  faith  is  dim, 
For  who  so  careth  for  the  flowers 

Will  care  much  more  for  him! 

Mary  Howitt 


140  M  ay   1  7 


WHO  GATHER  GOLD 

X  HEY  soon  grow  old  who  grope  for  gold 
In  marts  where  all  is  bought  and  sold: 
Who  live  for  self  and  on  some  shelf 
In  darkened  vaults  hoard  up  their  pelf; 
Cankered  and  crusted  o'er  with  mould  — 
For  them  their  youth  itself  is  old. 

They  ne'er  grow  old  who  gather  gold 
Where  spring  awakes  and  flowers  unfold; 
Where  suns  arise  in  joyous  skies, 
And  fill  the  soul  within  their  eyes. 
For  them  the  immortal  bards  have  sung; 
For  them  old  age  itself  is  young. 

Andrew  Bice  Saxton 


May  18  141 


THE   POET 


M. 


.OST  sweet  is  it  with  unuplifted  eyes 
To  pace  the  ground,  if  path  be  there  or  none, 
While  a  fair  region  round  the  traveller  lies 
Which  he  forbears  again  to  look  upon; 
Pleased  rather  with  some  soft  ideal  scene, 
The  work  of  fancy,  or  some  happy  tone 
Of  meditation,  slipping  in  between 
The  beauty  coming  and  the  beauty  gone. 
If  thought  and  love  desert  us,  from  that  day 
Let  us  break  off  all  commerce  with  the  Muse; 
With  thought  and  love  companions  of  our  way, 
Whate'er  the  senses  take  or  may  refuse, 
The  mind's  internal  heaven  shall  shed  her  dews 
Of  inspiration  on  the  humblest  lay. 

William  Wordsworth 


142  M  ay  1  9 


AN   EVENING   HYMN 

J /ORD,  should  we  oft  forget  to  sing 

A  thankful  evening  song  of  praise, 
This  duty  they  to  mind  might  bring 
Who  chirp  among  the  bushy  sprays. 
For  to  their  perches  they  retire, 
When  first  the  twilight  wraxeth  dim; 
And  every  night  that  sweet-voiced  choir 
Shuts  up  the  daylight  with  a  hymn. 

Ten  thousand-fold  more  cause  have  we 
To  close  each  day  with  praiseful  voice, 
To  offer  thankful  hearts  to  Thee, 
And  in  Thy  mercies  to  rejoice. 
Therefore  for  all  Thy  mercies  past, 
For  those  this  evening  doth  afford, 
And  which  for  times  to  come  Thou  hast, 
We  give  Thee  hearty  thanks,  O  Lord! 

George  Wither 


May  2  0  143 


STILL,   STILL  WITH   THEE 

OTILL,    still   with   Thee,    when   purple   morning 
breaketh, 

When  the  bird  waketh,  and  the  shadows  flee; 
Fairer  than  morning,  lovelier  than  the  daylight, 

Dawns  the  sweet  consciousness,  I  am  with  Thee! 

Alone  with  Thee,  amid  the  mystic  shadows, 
The  solemn  hush  of  nature  newly  born; 

Alone  with  Thee  in  breathless  adoration, 
In  the  calm  dew  and  freshness  of  the  morn. 

As  in  the  dawning,  o'er  the  waveless  ocean, 
The  image  of  the  morning  star  doth  rest, 

So  in  this  stillness  Thou  beholdest  only 
Thine  image  in  the  waters  of  my  breast. 

When  sinks  the  soul,  subdued  by  toil,  to  slumber, 
Its  closing  eye  looks  up  to  Thee  in  prayer; 

Sweet  the  repose  beneath  Thy  wings  o'ershading, 
But  sweeter  still  to  wake  and  find  Thee  there. 

So  shall  it  be  at  last,  in  that  bright  morning, 
When  the  soul  waketh,  and  life's  shadows  flee; 

Oh!   in  that  hour,  fairer  than  daylight  dawning, 
Shall  rise  the  glorious  thought,  I  am  with  Thee! 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 


144  May  2  1 


WIND  AND  SEA 

JL  HE  sea  is  a  jovial  comrade, 

He  laughs  wherever  he  goes; 
His  merriment  shines  in  the  dimpling  lines 

That  wrinkle  his  hale  repose; 
He  lays  himself  down  at  the  feet  of  the  Sun, 

And  shakes  all  over  with  glee, 
And  the  broad-backed  billows  fall  faint  on  the  shore, 

In  the  mirth  of  the  mighty  Sea! 

But  the  Wind  is  sad  and  restless, 

And  cursed  with  an  inward  pain! 
You  may  hark  as  you  will,  by  valley  or  hill, 

But  you  hear  him  still  complain. 
He  wails  on  the  barren  mountains, 

And  shrieks  on  the  wintry  sea; 
He  sobs  in  the  cedar,  and  moans  in  the  pine, 

And  shudders  all  over  the  aspen  tree. 

W'elcome  are  both  their  voices, 

And  I  know  not  which  is  best, — 
The  laughter  that  slips  from  the  Ocean's  lips, 

Or  the  comfortless  Wind's  unrest. 
There's  a  pang  in  all  rejoicing, 

A  joy  in  the  heart  of  pain, 
And  the  Wind  that  saddens,  the  Sea  that  gladdens, 

Are  singing  the  self-same  strain! 

Bayard  Taylor 


May  2  2  145 

THE    INDIVIDUAL  SOUL 

FROM    "CALAMUS" 

X  UMBLING  on  steadily,  nothing  dreading, 
Sunshine,  storm,  cold,   heat,   forever  withstanding, 

passing,  carrying, 
The     Soul's     realization     and    determination     still 

inheriting, 
The  fluid  vacuum  around  and  ahead  still  entering 

and  dividing, 
No  balk  retarding,  no  anchor  anchoring,  on  no  rock 

striking, 
Swift,  glad,  content,  unbereaved,  nothing  losing, 
Of  all  able  and  ready  at  any  time  to  give  strict 

account, 
The  divine  ship  sails  the  divine  sea. 

Whoever  you  are!  motion  and  reflection  are  espe- 
cially for  you, 
The  divine  ship  sails  the  divine  sea  for  you. 

Whoever  you  are!    you  are  he  or  she  for  whom  the 

earth  is  solid  and  liquid, 
You  are  he  or  she  for  whom  the  sun  and  moon  hang 

in  the  sky, 
For  none  more  than  you  are  the  present  and  the  past, 
For  none  more  than  you  is  immortality. 

Each  man  to  himself,  and  each  woman  to  herself, 
is  the  word  of  the  past  and  present,  and  the 
word  of  immortality, 

No  one  can  acquire  for  another  —  not  one! 

Not  one  can  grow  for  another  —  not  one! 

Walt  Whitman 


146  May  2  3 


ROOTED   IN  LOVE 


O 


H  thou  of  dark  forebodings  drear, 
Oh  thou  of  such  a  faithless  heart, 
Hast  thou  forgotten  what  thou  art, 
That  thou  hast  ventured  so  to  fear? 

No  weed  on  ocean's  bosom  cast, 
Borne  by  its  never-resting  foam 
This  way  and  that,  without  a  home, 

Till  flung  on  some  bleak  shore  at  last: 

But  thou  the  lotus,  which  above 

Sway'd  here  and  there  by  wind  and  tide, 
Yet  still  below  doth  fix'd  abide, 

Fast  rooted  in  the  eternal  Love. 

Richard  Chevexix  Trench 


May  2  4  147 


VIRTUE 

OWEET  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky; 
The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night; 
For  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  rose,  whose  hue  angry  and  brave 
Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye, 
Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave, 

And  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  spring,  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 
A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie, 
My  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes, 

And  all  must  die. 

• 
Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul, 
Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives; 
But  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal, 

Then  chiefly  lives. 

George  Herbert 


148  May  2  5 


THE   PRAYER 


Wi 


ILT  Thou  not  visit  me? 
The  plant  beside  me  feels  Thy  gentle  dew; 

And  every  blade  of  grass  I  see, 
From  Thy  deep  earth  its  quickening  moisture  drew. 

Wilt  Thou  not  visit  me? 
Thy  morning  calls  on  me  with  cheering  tone, 

And  every  hill  and  tree 
Lends  but  one  voice,  the  voice  of  Thee  alone. 

Come,  for  I  need  Thy  love, 
More  than  the  flower  the  dew,  or  grass  the  rain; 

Come,  gently  as  Thy  holy  dove; 
And  let  me  in  Thy  sight  rejoice  to  live  again. 

I  will  not  hide  from  them, 
When  Thy  storms  come,  though  fierce  may  be  their 
wrath ; 

But  bow  with  leafy  stem, 
And  strengthened  follow  on  Thy  chosen  path. 

Yes,  Thou  wilt  visit  me; 
Nor  plant  nor  tree  Thine  eye  delights  so  well, 

As  when,  from  sin  set  free, 
My  spirit  loves  with  Thine  in  peace  to  dwell. 

Jones  Very 


M ay  2  6  149 


TO  THE  HEIGHTS 

FROM    "THE    LADDER    OF    ST.    A.UGUSTINE' 


A, 


.LL  thoughts  of  ill:   all  evil  deeds, 
That  have  their  root  in  thoughts  of  ill: 
Whatever  hinders  or  impedes 
The  action  of  the  nobler  will ;  — 

All  these  must  first  be  trampled  down 
Beneath  our  feet,  if  we  would  gain 

In  the  bright  fields  of  fair  renown 
The  right  of  eminent  domain. 

We  have  not  wings,  we  cannot  soar; 

But  we  have  feet  to  scale  and  climb 
By  slow  degrees,  by  more  and  more, 

The  cloudy  summits  of  our  time. 

The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight, 

But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night. 

Standing  on  what  too  long  we  bore 

With  shoulders  bent  and  downcast  eyes, 

We  may  discern  —  unseen  before  — 
A  path  to  higher  destinies. 

Nor  deem  the  irrevocable  Past 

As  wholly  wasted,  wholly  vain, 
If,  rising  on  its  wrecks,  at  last, 

To  something  nobler  we  attain. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 


150  M ay  2  7 


SUNRISE 

FROM    "THE    SEASONS' 


Y< 


ONDER  comes  the  powerful  king  of  day, 
Rejoicing  in  the  east.     The  lessening  cloud, 
The  kindling  azure,  and  the  mountain's  brow 
Illumed  with  fluid  gold,  his  near  approach 
Betoken  glad.     Lo!    now,  apparent  all 
Aslant  the  dew-bright  earth,  and  color'd  air, 
He  looks  in  boundless  majesty  abroad; 
And  sheds  the  shining  day,  that  burnish'd  plays 
On  rocks,  and  hills,  and  towers,  and  wandering 

streams, 
High  gleaming  from  afar.     Prime  cheerer  Light! 
Of  all  material  beings  first,  and  best! 
Efflux  divine!   Nature's  resplendent  robe! 
Without  whose  vesting  beauty  all  were  wrapt 
In  unessential  gloom;   and  thou,  O  Sun! 
Soul  of  surrounding  worlds!   in  whom  best  seen 
Shines  out  thy  Maker,  may  I  sing  of  thee? 

James  Thomson 


May  28  151 


EVENING  AND  MORNING 


c 


lOMES,  at  times,  a  stillness  as  of  even, 
Steeping  the  soul  in  memories  of  love, 
As  when  the  glow  is  sinking  out  of  heaven, 
As  when  the  twilight  deepens  in  the  grove. 

Comes,  at  times,  a  voice  of  days  departed, 
On  the  dying  breath  of  evening  borne, 
Sinks  the  traveller,  faint  and  weary  hearted, 
"Long  is  the  way,"  it  whispers,  "and  forlorn." 

Comes,  at  length,  a  sound  of  many  voices, 
As  when  the  waves  break  lightly  on  the  shore; 
As  when  at  dawn  the  feather'd  choir  rejoices, 
Singing  aloud,  because  the  night  is  o'er. 

Comes,  at  last,  a  voice  of  thrilling  gladness, 
Borne  on  the  breezes  of  the  rising  day; 
Saying,  "The  Lord  shall  make  an  end  of  sadness,' 
Saying,  "The  Lord  shall  wipe  all  tears  away." 

Isaac  Gregory  Smith 


152  May  29 


FAITH  AND   REASON 

FROM    "THE    LIBRARY'1 


w. 


HEN  first  Religion  came  to  bless  the  land, 
Her  friends  were  then  a  firm  believing  band, 
To  doubt  was  then  to  plunge  in  guilt  extreme, 
And  all  was  gospel  that  a  monk  could  dream; 
Insulted  Reason  fled  the  grovelling  soul, 
For  Fear  to  guide,  and  visions  to  control; 
But  now,  when  Reason  has  assumed  her  throne, 
She,  in  her  turn,  demands  to  reign  alone; 
Rejecting  all  that  lies  beyond  her  view, 
And,  being  judge,  will  be  a  witness  too: 
Insulted  Faith  then  leaves  the  doubtful  mind, 
To  seek  the  truth,  without  a  power  to  find: 
Ah!   when  will  both  in  friendly  beams  unite, 
And  pour  on  erring  man  resistless  light? 

George  Crabbe 


May  SO  153 


THE  OLD  AND  THE   NEW 


o 


SOMETIMES  gleams  upon  our  sight, 
Through  present  wrong,  the  Eternal  Right! 
And  step  by  step,  since  time  began, 
We  see  the  steady  gain  of  man;  — 

That  all  of  good  the  past  hath  had 
Remains  to  make  our  own  time  glad, 
Our  common  daily  life  divine, 
And  every  land  a  Palestine. 

We  lack  but  open  eye  and  ear 
To  find  the  Orient's  marvels  here, 
The  still,  small  voice  in  autumn's  hush, 
Yon  maple  wood  the  burning  bush. 

For  still  the  new  transcends  the  old, 
In  signs  and  tokens  manifold; 
Slaves  rise  up  men;    the  olive  waves 
With  roots  deep  set  in  battle  graves. 

Through  the  harsh  noises  of  our  day 
A  low,  sweet  prelude  finds  its  way; 
Through  clouds  of  doubt  and  creeds  of  fear 
A  light  is  breaking,  calm  and  clear. 

Henceforth  my  heart  shall  sigh  no  more 
For  olden  time  and  holier  shore; 
God's  love  and  blessing,  then  and  there, 
Are  now,  and  here,  and  everywhere. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


i54  May  31 


MAY 


I 


FEEL  a  newer  life  in  every  gale; 

The  winds  that  fan  the  flowers, 
And  with  their  welcome  breathings  fill  the  sail, 

Tell  of  serener  hours,  — 
Of  hours  that  glide  unfelt  away 
Beneath  the  sky  of  May. 

The  spirit  of  the  gentle  south-wind  calls 

From  his  blue  throne  of  air, 
And  where  his  whispering  voice  in  music  falls, 
Beauty  is  budding  there; 
The  bright  ones  of  the  valley  break 
Their  slumbers,  and  awake. 

The  waving  verdure  rolls  along  the  plain, 

And  the  wide  forest  weaves, 
To  welcome  back  its  playful  mates  again, 
A  canopy  of  leaves; 
And  from  its  darkening  shadow  floats 
A  gush  of  trembling  notes. 

Fairer  and  brighter  spreads  the  reign  of  May; 

The  tresses  of  the  woods 
With  the  light  dallying  of  the  west- wind  play; 
And  the  full-brimming  floods, 
As  gladly  to  their  goal  they  run, 
Hail  the  returning  sun. 

James  Gates  Percival 


June   1  155 


TWO  INFINITIES 


A 


LONELY  way,  and  as  I  went  my  eyes 
Could  not  unfasten  from  the  Spring's  sweet  things, 
Lush-sprouted  grass,  and  all  that  climbs  and  clings 
In  loose,  deep  hedges,  where  the  primrose  lies 
In  her  own  fairness,  buried  blooms  surprise 
The  plunderer  bee  and  stop  his  murmurings, 
And  the  glad  flutter  of  a  finch's  wings 
Outstartle  small  blue-speckled  butterflies. 
Blissfully  did  one  speedwell  plot  beguile 
My  whole  heart  long;  I  Iov'd  each  separate  flower, 
Kneeling.     I  Iook'd  up  suddenly  —  Dear  God! 
There  stretch'd  the  shining  plain  for  many  a  mile, 
The  mountains  rose  with  what  invincible  power! 
And  how  the  sky  was  fathomless  and  broad! 

Edward  Dowden 


i56 


B, 


June   2 


THE   SKY-LARK 


IRD  of  the  wilderness, 

BIythesome  and  cumberless, 
Sweet  be  thy  matin  o'er  moorland  and  lea! 

Emblem  of  happiness, 

Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place  — 
O  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee! 

Wild  is  thy  lay  and  loud 

Far  in  the  downy  cloud, 
Love  gives  it  energy,  love  gave  it  birth. 

Where,  on  thy  dewy  wing, 

Where  art  thou  journeying? 
Thy  lay  is  in  heaven,  thy  love  is  on  earth. 

O'er  fell  and  fountain  sheen, 

O'er  moor  and  mountain  green, 
O'er  the  red  streamer  that  heralds  the  day, 

Over  the  cloudlet  dim, 

Over  the  rainbow's  rim, 
Musical  cherub,  soar,  singing,  away! 

Then  when  the  gloaming  comes, 

Low  in  the  heather  glooms, 
Sweet  will  thy  welcome  and  bed  of  love  be! 

Emblem  of  happiness, 

Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place  — 
O  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee! 

James  Hogg 


June   3  157 


LIFE 

VjOME,  track  with  me  this  little  vagrant  rill, 
Wandering  its  wild  course  from  the  mountain's 

breast; 
Now  with  a  brink  fantastic,  heather-drest, 
And  playing  with  the  stooping  flowers  at  will; 
Now  moving  scarce,  with  noiseless  step  and  still; 
Anon  it  seems  to  weary  of  its  rest, 
And  hurries  on,  leaping  with  sparkling  zest 
Adown  the  ledges  of  the  broken  hill. 
So  let  us  live.     Is  not  the  life  well  spent 
Which  loves  the  lot  that  kindly  Nature  weaves 
For  all,  inheriting  or  adorning  Earth? 
Which  throws  light  pleasure  over  true  content, 
Blossoms  with  fruitage,  flowers  as  well  as  leaves, 
And  sweetens  wisdom  with  a  taste  of  mirth? 

Thomas  Doubleday 


.58 


June   4 


THE   LATTICE  AT  SUNRISE 


A. 


.S  on  my  bed  at  dawn  I  mused  and  prayed, 
I  saw  my  lattice  prankt  upon  the  wall, 
The  flaunting  leaves  and  flitting  birds  withal,  — 
A  sunny  phantom  interlaced  with  shade; 
"Thanks  be  to  heaven,"  in  happier  mood  I  said, 
"What  sweeter  aid  my  matins  could  befall 
Than  this  fair  glory  from  the  East  hath  made? 
What  holy  sleights  hath  God,  the  Lord  of  all, 
To  bid  us  feel  and  see!     We  are  not  free 
To  say  we  see  not,  for  the  glory  comes 
Nightly  and  daily,  like  the  flowing  sea; 
His  lustre  pierceth  through  the  midnight  glooms; 
And,  at  prime  hour,  behold!  He  follows  me 
With  golden  shadows  to  my  secret  rooms!" 

Charles  Tennyson  Turner 


J  un  e  5  159 


HIDDEN  JOYS 

JL  LEASURES  lie  thickest  where  no  pleasures 

seem: 
There's  not  a  leaf  that  falls  upon  the  ground 
But  holds  some  joy,  of  silence,  or  of  sound, 
Some  sprite  begotten  of  a  summer  dream. 
The  very  meanest  things  are  made  supreme 
With  innate  ecstasy.     No  grain  of  sand 
But  moves  a  bright  and  million-peopled  land, 
And  hath  its  Edens  and  its  Eves,  I  deem. 
For  Love,  though  blind  himself,  a  curious  eye 
Hath  lent  me,  to  behold  the  hearts  of  things, 
And  touch'd  mine  ear  with  power.     Thus,  far  or 

nigh, 
Minute  or  mighty,  fix'd  or  free  with  wings, 
Delight  from  many  a  nameless  covert  sly 
Peeps  sparkling,  and  in  tones  familiar  sings. 

Laman  Blanchakd 


160  J  une   6 


IN  THESE   CALM   SHADES 

FROM    "A    FOREST    HYMN"" 


L 


ET  me  often  to  these  solitudes 
Retire,  and  in  thy  presence  reassure 
My  feeble  virtue.     Here  its  enemies, 
The  passions,  at  thy  plainer  footsteps  shrink 
And  tremble,  and  are  still.     O  God!  when  thou 
Dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests,  set  on  fire 
The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,  or  fill, 
With  all  the  waters  of  the  firmament, 
The  swift  dark  whirlwind  that  uproots  the  woods 
And  drowns  the  villages;  when,  at  thy  call, 
Uprises  the  great  deep,  and  throws  himself 
Upon  the  continent,  and  overwhelms 
Its  cities,  —  who  forgets  not,  at  the  sight 
Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  thy  power, 
His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by? 
O,  from  these  sterner  aspects  of  thy  face 
Spare  me  and  mine,  nor  let  us  need  the  wrath 
Of  the  mad  unchained  elements  to  teach 
Who  rules  them.      Be  it  ours  to  meditate, 
In  these  calm  shades,  thy  milder  majesty, 
And  to  the  beautiful  order  of  thy  works 
Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives. 

William  Cullen  Bryant 


J  u  ne  7  161 


A  DREAM 


I 


DREAMED  I  had  a  plot  of  ground, 
Once  when  I  chanced  asleep  to  drop, 
And  that  a  green  hedge  fenced  it  round, 
Cloudy  with  roses  at  the  top. 

I  saw  a  hundred  mornings  rise,  -— 
So  far  a  little  dream  may  reach,  — 

And  Spring  with  Summer  in  her  eyes 
Making  the  chiefest  charm  of  each. 

A  thousand  vines  were  climbing  o'er 
The  hedge,  I  thought,  but  as  I  tried 

To  pull  them  down,  for  evermore 
The  flowers  dropt  off  the  other  side! 

Waking,  I  said,  "These  things  are  signs 
Sent  to  instruct  us  that  'tis  ours 

Duly  to  keep  and  dress  our  vines,  — 
Waiting  in  patience  for  the  flowers." 

And  when  the  angel  feared  of  all 

Across  my  hearth  its  shadow  spread, 

"The  rose  that  climbed  my  garden  wall 
Has  bloomed  the  other  side,"  I  said. 

Alice  Cary 


\6i  J  v  n  e   8 


TO  HIS  SAVIOUR,  A  CHILD 

A     PRESENT    BY    A    CHILD 


G< 


O,  pretty  child,  and  bear  this  flower 
Unto  thy  little  Saviour; 
And  tell  Him,  by  that  bud  now  blown, 
He  is  the  Rose  of  Sharon  known. 
When  thou  hast  said  so,  stick  it  there 
Upon  His  bib  or  stomacher; 
And  tell  Him,  for  good  handsel  too, 
That  thou  hast  brought  a  whistle  new, 
Made  of  a  clean  straight  oaten  reed, 
To  charm  His  cries  at  time  of  need. 
Tell  Him,  for  coral,  thou  hast  none, 
But  if  thou  hadst,  He  should  have  one; 
But  poor  thou  art,  and  known  to  be 
Even  as  moneyless  as  He. 
Lastly,  if  thou  canst  win  a  kiss 
From  those  mellifluous  lips  of  His; 
Then  never  take  a  second  on, 
To  spoil  the  first  impression. 

Robert  Herrick 


June  9  163 


THE  MOSS   ROSE 

X   HE  angel  of  the  flowers,  one  day, 
Beneath  a  rose-tree  sleeping  lay,  — 
That  spirit  to  whose  charge  'tis  given 
To  bathe  young  buds  in  dews  of  heaven. 
Awaking  from  his  light  repose, 
The  angel  whispered  to  the  rose: 
"O  fondest  object  of  my  care, 
Still  fairest  found,  where  all  are  fair; 
For  the  sweet  shade  thou  giv'st  to  me 
Ask  what  thou  wilt,  'tis  granted  thee." 
"Then,"  said  the  rose,  with  deepened  glow, 
"On  me  another  grace  bestow." 
The  spirit  paused,  in  silent  thought, 
What  grace  was  there  that  flower  had  not? 
'Twas  but  a  moment,  —  o'er  the  rose 
A  veil  of  moss  the  angel  throws, 
And,  robed  in  nature's  simplest  weed, 
Could  there  a  flower  that  rose  exceed? 

German  of  Friedrich  Wilhelm  Krummacher 


164 


June   10 


FLOWERS 


I 


WILL  not  have  the  mad  Clytie, 
Whose  head  is  turn'd  by  the  sun; 
The  tulip  is  a  courtly  quean, 
Whom,  therefore  I  will  shun; 
The  cowslip  is  a  country  wench, 
The  violet  is  a  nun; 
But  I  will  woo  the  dainty  rose, 
The  queen  of  every  one. 

The  pea  is  but  a  wanton  witch, 
In  too  much  haste  to  wed, 
And  clasps  her  rings  on  every  hand; 
The  wolfsbane  I  should  dread; 
Nor  will  I  dreary  rosemarye, 
That  always  mourns  the  dead; 
But  I  will  woo  the  dainty  rose, 
With  her  cheeks  of  tender  red. 

The  lily  is  all  in  white,  like  a  saint, 

And  so  is  no  mate  for  me, 

And  the  daisy's  cheek  is  tipp'd  with  a  blush, 

She  is  of  such  low  degree; 

Jasmine  is  sweet,  and  has  many  loves, 

And  the  broom's  betroth'd  to  the  bee; 

But  I  will  plight  with  the  dainty  rose, 

For  fairest  of  all  is  she. 

Thouas  Hood 


J  un  e   1 1  1 65 


FROM  "THOUGHTS  IN  A  GARDEN' 


H, 


OW  vainly  men  themselves  amaze 
To  win  the  palm,  the  oak,  or  bays, 
And  their  incessant  labours  see 
Crown'd  from  some  single  herb  or  tree, 
Whose  short  and  narrow-verged  shade 
Does  prudently  their  toils  upbraid; 
While  all  the  flowers  and  trees  do  close 
To  weave  the  garlands  of  repose! 

Meanwhile  the  mind  from  pleasure  less 

Withdraws  into  its  happiness; 

The  mind,  that  ocean  where  each  kind 

Does  straight  its  own  resemblance  find; 

Yet  it  creates,  transcending  these, 

Far  other  worlds,  and  other  seas; 

Annihilating  all  that's  made 

To  a  green  thought  in  a  green  shade. 

Here  at  the  fountain's  sliding  foot, 
Or  at  some  fruit-tree's  mossy  root, 
Casting  the  body's  vest  aside, 
My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide; 
There,  like  a  bird,  it  sits  and  sings, 
Then  whets  and  combs  its  silver  wings, 
And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight, 
Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light. 

Andrew  Marvell 


66  J  u  n  e   1  2 


N 


RURAL   SOUNDS 

FROM    "THE    TASK" 


OR  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounds, 
Exhilarate  the  spirit,  and  restore 
The  tone  of  languid  nature.     Mighty  winds, 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-spreading  wood 
Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
The  dash  of  Ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind; 
Unnumber'd  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 
And  all  their  leaves  fast  lluttering,  all  at  once; 
Nor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  roar 
Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 
Of  neighb'ring  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 
Through  the  cleft  rock,  and,  chiming  as  they  fall 
Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at  length 
In  matted  grass,  that  with  a  livelier  green 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course. 
Nature  inanimate  employs  sweet  sounds, 
But  animated  nature  sweeter  still, 
To  soothe  and  satisfy  the  human  ear. 
Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 
The  live-long  night:    nor  these  alone,  whose  notes 
Nice-fmger'd  Art  must  emulate  in  vain, 
But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles,  screaming  loud, 
The  jay,  the  pie,  and  even  the  boding  owl, 
That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me. 
Sounds  inharmonious  in  themselves  and  harsh, 
let  heard  in  scenes  where  peace  for  ever  reigns, 
And  only  there,  please  highly  for  their  sake. 

William  Cowper 


June   13  167 


A  WOMAN'S  WISH 


w« 


OULD  I  were  lying  in  a  field  of  clover, 
Of  clover  cool  and  soft,  and  soft  and  sweet, 
With  dusky  clouds  in  deep  skies  hanging  over, 
And  scented  silence  at  my  head  and  feet. 

Just  for  one  hour  to  slip  the  leash  of  worry 

In  eager  haste  from  Thought's  impatient  neck, 

And  watch  it  coursing  —  in  its  heedless  hurry 
Disdaining  Wisdom's  whistles,  Duty's  beck. 

Ah,  it  were  sweet  where  clover  clumps  are  meeting, 
And  daisies  hiding,  so  to  hide  and  rest; 

No  sound  except  my  own  heart's  steady  beating, 
Rocking  itself  to  sleep  within  my  breast,  — 

Just  to  lie  there,  filled  with  the  deeper  breathing 
That  comes  of  listening  to  a  free  bird's  song! 

Our  souls  require  at  times  this  full  unsheathing  — 
All  swords  will  rust  if  scabbard-kept  too  long. 

And  I  am  tired!  —  so  tired  of  rigid  duty, 
So  tired  of  all  my  tired  hands  find  to  do! 

I  yearn,  I  faint,  for  some  of  life's  free  beauty, 

Its  loose  beads  with  no  straight  string  running 
through. 

Ay,  laugh,  if  laugh  you  will,  at  my  crude  speech, 
But  women  sometimes  die  of  such  a  greed,  — 

Die  for  the  small  joys  held  beyond  their  reach, 
And  the  assurance  they  have  all  they  need. 

Mary  Ashley  Townsend 


168  June   14 


TO  THE   SKYLARK 


E 


rTHEREAL  minstrel!    pilgrim  of  the  sky! 

Dost  thou  despise  the  earth  where  cares  abound 
Or,  while  the  wings  aspire,  are  heart  and  eye 

Both  with  thy  nest  upon  the  dewy  ground? 
Thy  nest,  which  thou  canst  drop  into  at  will, 
Those  quivering  wings  composed,  that  music  still! 

To  the  last  point  of  vision,  and  beyond, 

Mount,  daring  warbler!  —  that  love-prompted 
strain, 

Twist  thee  and  thine  a  never-failing  bond, 
Thrills  not  the  less  the  bosom  of  the  plain; 

Yet  mightst  thou  seem,  proud  privilege!   to  sing 

All  independent  of  the  leafy  spring. 

Leave  to  the  nightingale  her  shady  wood; 

A  privacy  of  glorious  light  is  thine, 
Whence  thou  dost  pour  upon  the  world  a  flood 

Of  harmony,  with  instinct  more  divine; 
Type  of  the  wise,  who  soar,  but  never  roam,  — 
True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  Home! 

William  Wordsworth 


June  15  169 


O 


FAITH 


WORLD,  thou  choosest  not  the  better  part! 
It  is  not  wisdom  to  be  only  wise, 
And  on  the  inward  vision  close  the  eyes, 
But  it  is  wisdom  to  believe  the  heart. 
Columbus  found  a  world,  and  had  no  chart, 
Save  one  that  faith  deciphered  in  the  skies; 
To  trust  the  soul's  invincible  surmise 
Was  all  his  science  and  his  only  art. 
Our  knowledge  is  a  torch  of  smoky  pine 
That  lights  the  pathway  but  one  step  ahead 
Across  a  void  of  mystery  and  dread. 
Bid,  then,  the  tender  light  of  faith  to  shine 
By  which  alone  the  mortal  heart  is  led 
Unto  the  thinking  of  the  thought  divine. 

George  Santayana 


170  J  u  n  e   1  6 


THE  UNKNOWN 

FROM    "A    NIGHT    IN    ITALY " 

V-jLOSE  not  thy  hand  upon  the  innocent  joy 

That  trusts  itself  within  thy  reach.     It  may, 
Or  may  not,  linger.     Thou  canst  but  destroy 

The  winged  wanderer.     Let  it  go  or  stay. 
Love  thou  the  rose,  yet  leave  it  on  its  stem. 

Think!     Midas  starved  by  turning  all  to  gold. 

Blessed  are  those  that  spare,  and  that  withhold; 
Because  the  whole  world  shall  be  trusted  them. 

Chase  not  too  close  the  fading  rapture.     Leave 

To  Love  his  long  auroras,  slowly  seen. 
Be  ready  to  release  as  to  receive. 

Deem  those  the  nearest,  soul  to  soul,  between 
Whose  lips  yet  lingers  reverence  on  a  sigh. 

Judge  what  thy  sense  can  reach  not,  most  thine 
own, 

If  once  thy  soul  hath  seized  it.     The  unknown 
Is  life  to  love,  religion,  poetry. 

George  Meredith 


June  17  171 


COST  AND  WORTH 

FROM    "BITTER-SWEET" 

X  HUS  is  it  over  all  the  earth! 
That  which  we  call  the  fairest, 
And  prize  for  its  surpassing  worth, 
Is  always  rarest. 

Iron  is  heaped  in  mountain  piles, 

And  gluts  the  laggard  forges: 
But  gold-flakes  gleam  in  dim  defiles 
And  lonely  gorges. 

The  snowy  marble  flecks  the  land 

With  heaped  and  rounded  ledges, 
But  diamonds  hide  within  the  sand 
Their  starry  edges. 

God  gives  no  value  unto  men 

Unmatched  by  need  of  labor; 
And  Cost,  of  Worth,  has  ever  been 
The  closest  neighbor. 

Wide  is  the  gate  and  broad  the  way 

That  opens  to  perdition, 
And  countless  multitudes  are  they 
Who  seek  admission. 

But  strait  the  gate,  the  path  unkind, 

That  leads  to  life  immortal, 
And  few  the  careful  feet  that  find 
That  hidden  portal. 

Josiah  Gilbert  Holland 


June   18 


MORNING   HYMN 

2"\\VAKE,  my  Soul,  and  with  the  sun, 
Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run; 
Shake  of!  dull  sloth,  and  joyful  rise, 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

Thy  precious  time  misspent,- redeem; 
Each  present  day  thy  last  esteem; 
Improve  thy  talent  with  due  care, 
For  the  great  day  thyself  prepare. 

Let  all  thy  converse  be  sincere, 
Thy  conscience  as  the  noon-day  clear; 
Think  how  all-seeing  God  thy  ways, 
And  all  thy  secret  thoughts,  surveys. 

By  influence  of  the  light  divine, 
Let  thy  own  light  to  others  shine; 
Reflect  all  heaven's  propitious  rays, 
In  ardent  love,  and  cheerful  praise. 

Lord,  I  my  vows  to  Thee  renew, 
Scatter  my  sins  as  morning  dew; 
Guard  my  first  springs  of  thought  and  will, 
And  with  Thyself  my  spirit  fill. 

Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow, 
Praise  Him,  all  creatures  here  below; 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  heavenly  host, 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

Tiio^ias  Ken 


J  un  e   19  173 


THE  CLOVER 

iOOME  sings  of  the  lily,  and  daisy,  and  rose, 
And 'the  pansies  and  pinks  that  the  summer-time 

throws 
In  the  green  grassy  lap  of  the  medder  that  lays 
Blinkin'  up  at  the  skies  through  the  sunshiny  days; 
But  what  is  the  lily  and  all  of  the  rest 
Of  the  flowers  to  a  man  with  a  heart  in  his  breast 
That  has  dipped  brimmin'  full  of  the  honey  and  dew 
Of  the  sweet  clover-blossoms  his  babyhood  knew? 

I  never  set  eyes  on  a  clover-field  now, 

Or  fool  round  a  stable,  or  climb  in  the  mow, 

But  my  childhood  comes  back,  just  as  clear  and  as 

plain 
As  the  smell  of  the  clover  I'm  sniffin'  again; 
And  I  wander  away  in  a  barefooted  dream, 
Where  I  tangle  my  toes  in  the  blossoms  that  gleam 
With  the  dew  of  the  dawn  of  the  morning  of  love 
Ere  it  wept  o'er  the  graves  that  I'm  weepin'  above. 

And  so  I  love  clover  —  it  seems  like  a  part 
Of  the  sacredest  sorrows  and  joys  of  my  heart; 
And  wherever  it  blossoms,  oh,  there  let  me  bow, 
And  thank  the  good  God  as  I'm  thankin'  him  now; 
And  I  pray  to  him  still  for  the  strength,  when  I  die, 
To  go  out  in  the  clover  and  tell  it  good-by, 
And  lovingly  nestle  my  face  in  its  bloom, 
While  my  soul  slips  away  on  a  breath  of  perfume. 
James  Whitcomb  Riley 


1 74  J  un  e   2  0 


FIRST-DAY  THOUGHTS 


I 


N  calm  and  cool  and  silence,  once  again 
.  I  find  my  old  accustomed  place  among 

My  brethren,  where,  perchance,  no  human  tongue 
Shall  utter  words;   where  never  hymn  is  sung, 
Nor  deep-tpned  organ  blown,  nor  censer  swung, 
Nor  dim  light  falling  through  the  pictured  pane! 
There,  syllabled  by  silence,  let  me  hear 
The  still  small  voice  which  reached  the  prophet's 

ear; 
Read  in  my  heart  a  still  diviner  law 
Than  Israel's  leader  on  his  tables  saw! 
There  let  me  strive  with  each  besetting  sin, 
Recall  my  wandering  fancies,  and  restrain 
The  sore  disquiet  of  a  restless  brain; 
And,  as  the  path  of  duty  is  made  plain, 
May  grace  be  given  that  I  may  walk  therein, 

Not  like  the  hireling,  for  his  selfish  gain, 
With  backward  glances  and  reluctant  tread, 
Making  a  merit  of  his  coward  dread,  — 

But,  cheerful,  in  the  light  around  me  thrown, 
Walking  as  one  to  pleasant  service  led; 
Doing  God's  will  as  if  it  were  my  own, 
Yet  trusting  not  in  mine,  but  in  his  strength  alone! 
John  Gree.\leaf  Whittier 


J  un  e   2  1  175 


INFLUENCE 

FROM    "lUCILe" 


N< 


O  stream  from  its  source 
Flows  seaward,  how  lonely  soever  its  course, 
But  what  some  land  is  gladdened.     No  star  ever  rose 
And  set  without  influence  somewhere.     Who  knows 
What   earth    needs   from   earth's   lowest   creature? 

No  life 
Can  be  pure  in  its  purpose  and  strong  in  its  strife 
And  all  life  not  be  purer  and  stronger  thereby. 
The  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect  on  high, 
The  army  of  martyrs  who  stand  by  the  throne 
And  gaze  into  the  face  that  makes  glorious  their 

own, 
Know  this,    surely,   at   last.     Honest  love,   honest 

sorrow, 
Honest    work    for    the    day,    honest    hope    for   the 

morrow, 
Are  these  worth  nothing  more  than  the  hand  they 

make  weary, 
The  heart  they  have  sadden'd,  the  life  they  leave 

dreary? 
Hush!   the  sevenfold  heavens  to  the  voice  of  the 

Spirit 
Echo:    He  that  o'ercometh  shall  all  things  inherit. 
Edward  Bulwer,  Lord  Lytton  (Owen  Meredith) 


176  J  u  n  e  2  2 


LIFE 


I 


MADE  a  posie,  while  the  day  ran  by: 
"Here  will  I  smell  my  remnant  out,  and  tie 
My  life  within  this  band." 
But  Time  did  beckon  to  the  flowers,  and  they 
By  noon  most  cunningly  did  steal  away, 

And  withered  in  my  hand. 

My  hand  was  next  to  them,  and  then  my  heart; 
I  took,  without  more  thinking,  in  good  part 

Time's  gentle  admonition; 
Who  did  so  sweetly  death's  sad  taste  convey, 
Making  my  minde  to  smell  my  fatall  day, 

Yet  sug'ring  the  suspicion. 

Farewell,  dear  flowers!    sweetly  your  time  ye  spent; 
Fit,  while  ye  lived,  for  smell  or  ornament, 

And  after  death  for  cures. 
I  follow  straight  without  complaints  or  grief; 
Since,  if  my  scent  be  good,  I  care  not  if 

It  be  as  short  as  yours. 

George  Herbert 


June   23  177 


ASPIRATION 


L, 


EAVE  me,  O  Love  which  readiest  but  to  dust; 
And  thou,  my  mind,  aspire  to  higher  things; 
Grow  rich  in  that  which  never  taketh  rust; 
Whatever  fades,  but  fading  pleasure  brings. 
Draw  in  thy  beams,  and  humble  all  thy  might 
To  that  sweet  yoke  where  lasting  freedoms  be; 
Which  breaks  the  clouds,  and  opens  forth  the  light, 
That  doth  both  shine,  and  give  us  sight  to  see. 
O  take  fast  hold;   let  that  light  be  thy  guide 
In  this  small  course  which  birth  draws  out  to  death, 
And  think  how  ill  becometh  him  to  slide, 
Who  seeketh  heaven,  and  comes  of  heavenly  breath. 
Then  farewell,  world;   thy  uttermost  I  see: 
Eternal  Love,  maintain  thy  life  in  me! 

Sir  Philip  Sidney 


178  June   24 


NATURE'S  GLADNESS 

FROM    "TO    A    SKY-LARK." 


w, 


E  look  before  and  after, 
And  pine  for  what  is  not; 
Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest 
thought. 

Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate,  and  pride,  and  fear; 
If  we  were  things  born 

Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come  near. 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 

That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 

From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 


J  u  n  e  2  5  179 


THE  HAPPIEST  HEART 


W> 


HO  drives  the  horses  of  the  sun 
Shall  lord  it  but  a  day; 
Better  the  lowly  deed  were  done, 
And  kept  the  humble  way. 

The  rust  will  find  the  sword  of  fame, 

The  dust  will  hide  the  crown; 
Ay,  none  shall  nail  so  high  his  name 

Time  will  not  tear  it  down. 

The  happiest  heart  that  ever  beat 

Was  in  some  quiet  breast 
That  found  the  common  daylight  sweet 

And  left  to  Heaven  the  rest. 

John  Vance  Cheney 


1 80  J  u  n  e   2  6 


INVOCATION  TO   RAIN   IN   SUMMER 


O 


GENTLE,  gentle  summer  rain, 

Let  not  the  silver  lily  pine, 
The  drooping  lily  pine  in  vain 

To  feel  that  dewy  touch  of  thine,  — 
To  drink  thy  freshness  once  again, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain! 

In  heat  the  landscape  quivering  lies; 

The  cattle  pant  beneath  the  tree; 
Through  parching  air  and  purple  skies 

The  earth  looks  up,  in  vain,  for  thee; 
For  thee  —  for  thee,  it  looks  in  vain, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain. 

Come  thou,  and  brim  the  meadow  streams, 
And  soften  all  the  hills  with  mist, 

O  falling  dew!    from  burning  dreams 
By  thee  shall  herb  and  flower  be  kissed, 

And  Earth  shall  bless  thee  yet  again, 

O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain. 

William  Cox  Bexxett 


J  un  e  2  7  181 


FROM   "LIGHT" 


w 


HAT  soul-like  changes,  evanescent  moods, 
Upon  the  face  of  the  still  passive  earth, 
Its  hills,  and  fields,  and  woods, 

Thou  with  thy  seasons  and  thy  hours  art  ever  call- 
ing forth! 
Even  like  a  lord  of  music  bent 
Over  his  instrument, 

Who  gives  to  tears  and  smiles  an  equal  birth! 
When  clear  as  holiness  the  morning  ray 
Casts  the  rock's  dewy  darkness  at  its  feet, 
Mottling  with  shadows  all  the  mountain  gray: 
When,  at  the  hour  of  sovereign  noon, 
Infinite  silent  cataracts  sheet 
Shadowless  through  the  air  of  thunder-breeding 

June; 
And  when  a  yellower  glory  slanting  passes 
'Twixt  longer  shadows  o'er  the  meadow  grasses; 
When  now  the  moon  lifts  up  her  shining  shield, 
High  on  the  peak  of  a  cloud-hill  reveal'd; 
Now  crescent,  low,  wandering  sun-dazed  away, 
Unconscious  of  her  own  star-mingled  ray, 
Her  still  face  seeming  more  to  think  than  see, 
Makes  the  pale  world  lie  dreaming  dreams  of  thee! 
No  mood  of  mind,  no  melody  of  soul, 
But  lies  within  thy  silent  soft  control. 

George  Macdonald 


1 82  June  2  8 


SONG  OF  THE  CLOUDS 

FROM    "THE    CLOUDS" 


I 


MMORTAL  Clouds  from  the  echoing  shore 

Of  the  father  of  streams  from  the  sounding  sea, 
Dewy  and  fleet,  let  us  rise  and  soar; 

Dewy  and  gleaming  and  fleet  are  we! 
Let  us  look  on  the  tree-clad  mountain-crest, 

On  the  sacred  earth  where  the  fruits  rejoice, 
On  the  waters  that  murmur  east  and  west, 

On  the  tumbling  sea  with  his  moaning  voice. 

For  unwearied  glitters  the  Eye  of  the  Air, 

And  the  bright  rays  gleam; 

Then  cast  we  our  shadows  of  mist,  and  fare 

In  our  deathless  shapes  to  glance  everywhere 

From  the  height  of  the  heaven,  on  the  land  and  air, 

And  the  Ocean  Stream. 

Greek  of  Aristophanes 
Translation  of  Andrew  Lang 


J  u  n  e  2  9  183 


TO  THE  GRASSHOPPER  AND  CRICKET 


G. 


REEN  little  vaulter  in  the  sunny  grass, 
Catching  your  heart  up  at  the  feel  of  June,  — 
Sole  voice  that's  heard  amidst  the  lazy  noon, 
When  even  the  bees  lag  at  the  summoning  brass; 
And  you,  warm  little  housekeeper,  who  class 
With  those  who  think  the  candles  come  too  soon, 
Loving  the  fire,  and  with  your  tricksome  tune 
Nick  the  glad  silent  moments  as  they  pass! 
O  sweet  and  tiny  cousins,  that  belong, 
One  to  the  fields,  the  other  to  the  hearth, 
Both  have  your  sunshine;  both,  though  small,  are 

strong 
At  your  clear  hearts;   and  both  seem  given  to  earth 
To  sing  in  thoughtful  ears  this  natural  song,  — 
In  doors  and  out,  summer  and  winter,  mirth. 

Leigh  Hunt 


1 84 


June   JO 


THE   WORTH  OF  HOURS 


B, 


1  ELI  EVE  not  that  your  inner  eye 
Can  ever  in  just  measure  try 
The  worth  of  hours  as  they  go  by: 

For  every  man's  weak  self,  alas! 

Makes  him  to  see  them,  while  they  pass, 

As  through  a  dim  or  tinted  glass: 

But  if  in  earnest  care  you  would 
Mete  out  to  each  its  part  of  good, 
Trust  rather  to  your  after-mood. 

So  should  we  live,  that  every  hour 
May  die  as  dies  the  natural  flower,  — 
A  self-reviving  thing  of  power; 

That  every  thought  and  every  deed 
May  hold  within  itself  the  seed 
Of  future  good  and  future  need: 

Esteeming  sorrow,  whose  employ 
Is  to  develop  not  destroy. 
Far  better  than  a  barren  joy. 

Richard  Monckton  Milnes,  Lord  Houghton 


J uly   1  185 


LOVE 


T, 


HE  fierce  exulting  worlds,  the  motes  in  rays, 
The  churlish  thistles,  scented  briers, 
The  wind-swept  bluebells  on  the  sunny  braes, 
Down  to  the  central  fires, 

Exist  alike  in  Love.     Love  is  a  sea 

Filling  all  the  abysses  dim 
Of  Iornest  space,  in  whose  deeps  regally 

Suns  and  their  bright  broods  swim. 

This  mighty  sea  of  Love,  with  wondrous  tides, 

Is  sternly  just  to  sun  and  grain; 
'Tis  laving  at  this  moment  Saturn's  sides, 

'Tis  in  my  blood  and  brain. 

All  things  have  something  more  than  barren  use; 

There  is  a  scent  upon  the  brier, 
A  tremulous  splendour  in  the  autumn  dews, 

Cold  morns  are  fringed  with  fire. 

The  clodded  earth  goes  up  in  sweet-breath 'd  flowers; 

In  music  dies  poor  human  speech, 
And  into  beauty  blow  those  hearts  of  ours 

When  Love  is  born  in  each. 

Daisies  are  white  upon  the  churchyard  sod, 
Sweet  tears  the  clouds  lean  down  and  give, 

The  world  is  very  lovely.     O  my  God, 
I  thank  Thee  that  I  live! 

Alexander  Smith 


1 86  July   2 


NIGHT-DEATH 


M 


YSTERIOUS  Night!    when  our  first  parent 
knew 
Thee,  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 
This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue? 
Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 
And  Io!    creation  widened  in  man's  view. 
Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  con- 
cealed 
Within  thy  beams,  O  Sun!    or  who  could  find, 
While  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed, 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  madest  us  blind? 
Why  do  we  then  shun  Death  with  anxious  strife? 
If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  Life? 

Joseph  Blaxco  White 


J  u  ly   3  187 


MAN'S   MEDLEY 


H 


ARK  how  the  birds  do  sing 

And  woods  do  ring: 
All  creatures  have  their  joy,  and  man  hath  his. 
Yet  if  we  rightly  measure, 

Man's  joy  and  pleasure 
Rather  hereafter  than  in  present  is. 

Not  that  he  may  not  here 
Taste  of  the  cheer; 
But  as  birds  drink,  and  straight  lift  up  their  head, 
So  must  he  sip,  and  think 
Of  better  drink 
He  may  attain  to  after  he  is  dead. 

But  as  his  joys  are  double, 
So  is  his  trouble: 
He  hath  two  winters,  other  things  but  one; 
Both  frosts  and  thoughts  do  nip 
And  bite  his  lip; 
And  he  of  all  things  fears  two  deaths  alone. 

Yet  ev'n  the  greatest  griefs 
May  be  reliefs, 
Could  he  but  take  them  right  and  in  their  ways. 
Happy  is  he  whose  heart 

Hath  found  the  art 
To  turn  his  double  pains  to  double  praise! 

George  Herbert 


188  July  4 


O 


CENTENNIAL   HYMN 
1876 


UR  fathers'  God!    from  out  whose  hand 
The  centuries  fall  like  grains  of  sand, 
We  meet  to-day,  united,  free, 
And  loyal  to  our  land  and  Thee, 
To  thank  Thee  for  the  era  done, 
And  trust  Thee  for  the  opening  one. 

Here,  where  of  old,  by  Thy  design, 
The  fathers  spake  that  word  of  Thine 
Whose  echo  is  the  glad  refrain 
Of  rended  bolt  and  falling  chain, 
To  grace  our  festal  time,  from  all 
The  zones  of  earth  our  guests  we  call. 

For  art  and  labor  met  in  truce, 
For  beauty  made  the  bride  of  use, 
We  thank  Thee;    but,  withal,  we  crave 
The  austere  virtues  strong  to  save, 
The  honor  proof  to  place  or  gold, 
The  manhood  never  bought  nor  sold! 

Oh  make  Thou  us,  through  centuries  long, 
In  peace  secure,  in  justice  strong; 
Around  our  gift  of  freedom  draw 
The  safeguards  of  thy  righteous  law: 
And,  cast  in  some  diviner  mould, 
Let  the  new  cycle  shame  the  old! 

John  Greekleaf  Whittier 


July   5  189 


AMERICA 


N, 


OR  force  nor  fraud  shall  sunder  us!   O  ye 
Who  north  or  south,  on  east  or  western  land, 
Native  to  noble  sounds,  say  truth  for  truth, 
Freedom  for  freedom,  love  for  love,  and  God 
For  God;   O  ye  who  in  eternal  youth 
Speak  with  a  living  and  creative  flood 
This  universal  English,  and  do  stand 
Its  breathing  book,  live  worthy  of  that  grand, 
Heroic  utterance  —  parted,  yet  a  whole, 
Far  yet  unsever'd,  —  children  brave  and  free 
Of  the  great  Mother-tongue,  and  ye  shall  be 
Lords  of  an  empire  wide  as  Shakespeare's  soul, 
Sublime  as  Milton's  immemorial  theme, 
And  rich  as  Chaucer's  speech,  and  fair  as  Spenser's 
dream. 

Sidney  Dobell 


ic)o  J  uly  6 


THE   GOLDEN   MEAN 

.L/ICINIUS,  you  will  safer  steer, 

Not  keeping  always  out  to  sea, 
Nor  hugging  treacherous  coasts  for  fear 
Of  gales  too  free. 

Whoever  loves  the  Golden  Mean 
Is  safe  from  squalor's  falling  walls, 

Is  wise  avoiding  Envy  keen 
\\  ho  eyes  proud  halls. 

The  wind  shakes  oft  the  tallest  pine; 

High  towers  fall  with  heavier  crash; 
On  lofty  peaks  the  bolts  divine 

More  surely  dash. 

'Mid  trials  hope,  'mid  triumphs  dread, 
The  lot  reversed  —  a  soul  well  taught; 

Repulsive  winters,  cold  and  dead, 
By  Jove  are  brought 

And  banished;   what  is  bad  to-day, 

To-morrow  ends;    Apollo's  art 
Stirs  the  still  Muse,  and  not  for  aye 

He  wings  his  dart. 

When  times  are  hard,  be  bold  and  brave 

In  sight  of  men;   be  wise  as  well, 
And  shorten  sail  when  winds  you  crave 
Too  favoring  swell. 
Latin  of  Horace 
Transition  of  William  Addison  Houghton 


J uly  7  191 


FIDELITY 


M 


ETHOUGHT  that  in  a  solemn  church  I  stood; 
Its  marble  acres,  worn  with  knees  and  feet, 
Lay  spread  from  door  to  door,  from  street  to  street. 
Midway  the  form  hung  high  upon  the  rood 
Of  Him  who  gave  His  life  to  be  our  good; 
Beyond  priests  flitted,  bowed,  and  murmured  meet 
Among  the  candles  shining  still  and  sweet. 
Men  came  and  went,  and  worshipped  as  they  could, 
And  still  their  dust  a  woman  with  her  broom, 
Bowed  to  her  work,  kept  sweeping  to  the  door. 
Then  saw  I,  slow  through  all  the  pillared  gloom, 
Across  the  church  a  silent  figure  come: 
"Daughter,"  it  said,  "thou  swcepest  well  my  floor!" 
It  is  the  Lord,  I  cried,  and  saw  no  more. 

George  Macdonald 


FROM       THE    ELIXIR 


A 


SERVANT  with  this  clause 
Makes  drudgery  divine; 
Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  Thy  laws 
Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine. 

George  Herbert 


192  J  uly   8 


THE   FLOWERS 


w, 


HEN  Love  arose  in  heart  and  deed 
To  wake  the  world  to  greater  joy, 
"What  can  she  give  me  now?"  said  Greed, 
Who  thought  to  win  some  costly  toy. 

He  rose,  he  ran,  he  stoop'd,  he  clutch'd; 

And  soon  the  Flowers,  that  Love  let  fall, 
In  Greed's  hot  grasp  were  fray'd  and  smutch'd, 

And  Greed  said,  "Flowers!    Can  this  be  all?" 

He  flung  them  down  and  went  his  way, 

He  cared  no  jot  for  thyme  or  rose; 
But  boys  and  girls  came  out  to  play, 

And  some  took  these  and  some  took  those  — 

Red,  blue,  and  white,  and  green  and  gold; 

And  at  their  touch  the  dew  return'd, 
And  all  the  bloom  a  thousandfold  — 

So  red,  so  ripe,  the  roses  burn'd! 

William  Brighty  Rands 


July   9  193 


THE   PLEASANT  LAIR 

X  O  one  who  has  been  long  in  city  pent, 

'Tis  very  sweet  to  look  into  the  fair 

And  open  face  of  heaven,  —  to  breathe  a  prayer 
Full  in  the  smile  of  the  blue  firmament. 
Who  is  more  happy,  when,  with  heart's  content, 

Fatigued  he  sinks  into  some  pleasant  lair 

Of  wavy  grass,  and  reads  a  debonair 
And  gentle  tale  of  love  and  Ianguishment? 
Returning  home  at  evening,  with  an  ear 

Catching  the  notes  of  Philomel,  —  an  eye 
Watching  the  sailing  cloudlet's  bright  career, 

He  mourns  that  day  so  soon  has  glided  by: 
E'en  like  the  passage  of  an  angel's  tear 

That  falls  through  the  clear  ether  silently. 

John  Keats 


194  J  uly  10 


B 


YOUTH'S  WARNING 
I 


'EWARE,  exulting  youth,  beware, 

When  life's  young  pleasures  woo, 
That  ere  you  yield  you  shrive  your  heart, 

And  keep  your  conscience  true! 
For  sake  of  silver  spent  to-day, 

Why  pledge  to-morrow's  gold? 
Or  in  hot  blood  implant  Remorse, 

To  grow  when  blood  is  cold? 
If  wrong  you  do,  if  false  you  play, 

In  summer  among  the  flowers, 
You  must  atone,  you  shall  repay, 

I?i  winter  among  the  showers. 

II 

To  turn  the  balances  of  Heaven 

Surpasses  mortal  power; 
For  every  white  there  is  a  black, 

For  every  sweet  a  sour. 
For  every  up  there  is  a  down, 

For  every  folly,  shame; 
And  retribution  follows  guilt, 

As  burning  follows  flame. 
//  wrong  you  do,  if  false  you  play, 

In  summer  among  the  flowers, 
You  must  atone,  you  shall  repay, 

In  winter  among  the  showers. 

Charles  Mack  a. y 


July  11  1 95 


O  YET  WE  TRUST  THAT  SOMEHOW 
GOOD 


IN    MEMORIAM 


o 


YET  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 
Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood; 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet; 

That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 

Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain; 

That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 

Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire, 
Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

Behold,  we  know  not  anything; 
I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last  —  far  off  —  at  last,  to  all, 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  runs  my  dream:   but  what  am  I? 

An  infant  crying  in  the  night: 

An  infant  crying  for  the  light: 
And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


1 96  J  uly   12 


PRAISE  TO  THE   CREATOR 

V  AIREST  of  all  the  lights  above, 

Thou  Sun,  whose  beams  adorn  the  spheres, 

And  with  unwearied  swiftness  move 

To  form  the  circles  of  our  years: 

Praise  the  Creator  of  the  skies, 

That  dress'd  thine  orb  in  golden  rays; 

Or  may  the  Sun  forget  to  rise, 

If  he  forget  his  Maker's  praise! 

Thou  reigning  beauty  of  the  night, 
Fair  queen  of  silence,  silver  Moon, 
Whose  gentle  beams  and  borrow'd  light 
Are  softer  rivals  of  the  noon,  — 
Arise,  and  to  that  Sovereign  Power, 
Waxing  and  waning,  honours  pay, 
Who  bade  thee  rule  the  dusky  hour, 
And  half  supply  the  absent  day. 

Ye  twinkling  Stars,  who  gild  the  skies 
When  darkness  has  its  curtains  drawn, 
Who  keep  your  watch,  with  wakeful  eyes, 
When  business,  cares,  and  day  are  gone: 
Proclaim  the  glories  of  your  Lord, 
Dispersed  through  all  the  heavenly  street, 
Whose  boundless  treasures  can  afford 
So  rich  a  pavement  for  His  feet. 

Isaac  Watts 


July   13  197 


NATURE'S  TRANQUILLITY 

FROM    "TINTERN    ABBEY" 

JL   HESE  beauteous  forms, 
Through  a  long  absence,  have  not  been  to  me 
As  is  a  landscape  to  a  blind  man's  eye: 
But  oft,  in  lonely  rooms,  and  'mid  the  din 
Of  towns  and  cities,  I  have  owed  to  them, 
In  hours  of  weariness,  sensations  sweet, 
Felt  in  the  blood,  and  felt  along  the  heart; 
And  passing  even  into  my  purer  mind, 
With  tranquil  restoration:  —  feelings  too 
Of  unremembered  pleasure:    such,  perhaps, 
As  have  no  slight  or  trivial  influence 
On  that  best  portion  of  a  good  man's  life, 
His  little,  nameless,  unremembered  acts 
Of  kindness  and  of  love.     Nor  less,  I  trust, 
To  them  I  may  have  owed  another  gift, 
Of  aspect  more  sublime;   that  blessed  mood, 
In  which  the  burden  of  the  mystery, 
In  which  the  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world, 
Is  lightened:  —  that  serene  and  blessed  mood, 
In  which  the  affections  gently  lead  us  on,  — 
Until,  the  breath  of  this  corporeal  frame 
And  even  the  motion  of  our  human  blood 
Almost  suspended,  we  are  laid  asleep 
In  body,  and  become  a  living  soul: 
While  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 
Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy, 
We  see  into  the  life  of  things. 

William  Wordsworth 


198 


July  14 


I 


TRUST 


AM  Thy  grass,  O  Lord! 
I  grow  up  sweet  and  tall, 
But  for  a  day,  beneath  Thy  sword 
To  lie  at  evenfall. 


Yet  have  I  not  enough 

In  that  brief  day  of  mine? 
The  wind,  the  bees,  the  wholesome  stuff 

The  sun  pours  out  like  wine. 

Behold,  this  is  my  crown,  — 

Love  will  not  let  me  be; 
Love  holds  me  here;    Love  cuts  me  down; 

And  it  is  well  with  me. 


Lord,  Love,  keep  it  but  so; 

Thy  purpose  is  full  plain: 
I  die  that  after  I  may  grow 

As  tall,  as  sweet  again. 

LlZETTE    WOODWORTH    REESE 


July  15  199 


THE   LOVE  OF   GOD 

A  HOU  Grace  Divine,  encircling  all, 
A  soundless,  shoreless  sea! 
\\  herein  at  last  our  souls  must  fall, 
O  Love  of  God  most  free ! 

When  over  dizzy  heights  we  go, 

One  soft  hand  blinds  our  eyes, 
The  other  leads  us,  safe  and  slow, 

O  Love  of  God  most  wise! 

And  though  we  turn  us  from  thy  face, 

And  wander  wide  and  long, 
Thou  hold'st  us  still  in  thine  embrace, 

O  Love  of  God  most  strong! 

The  saddened  heart,  the  restless  soul, 
The  toil-worn  frame  and  mind, 

Alike  confess  thy  sweet  control, 
O  Love  of  God  most  kind! 

But  not  alone  thy  care  we  claim, 

Our  wayward  steps  to  win; 
We  know  thee  by  a  dearer  name, 

O  Love  of  God  within! 

And,  filled  and  quickened  by  thy  breath, 

Our  souls  are  strong  and  free 
To  rise  o'er  sin  and  fear  and  death, 

O  Love  of  God,  to  thee! 

Eliza  Scuoder 


200  July   16 


THE   FOREST   GLADE 

x~\.S  one  dark  morn  I  trod  a  forest  glade, 

A  sunbeam  enter'd  at  the  further  end, 

And  ran  to  meet  me  thro'  the  yielding  shade  — 

As  one,  who  in  the  distance  sees  a  friend, 

And,  smiling,  hurries  to  him;   but  mine  eyes, 

Bewilder'd  by  the  change  from  dark  to  bright, 

Receiv'd  the  greeting  with  a  quick  surprise 

At  first,  and  then  with  tears  of  pure  delight; 

For   sad   my   thoughts   had   been  —  the   tempest's 

wrath 
Had  gloom'd  the  night,  and  made  the  morrow  gray; 
That  heavenly  guidance  humble  sorrow  hath, 
Had  turn'd  my  feet  into  that  forest-way, 
Just  when  His  morning  light  came  down  the  path, 
Among  the  lonely  woods  at  early  day. 

Charles  Tennyson  Turner 


July   17  201 


GULF-WEED 

1JL  WEARY  weed,  tossed  to  and  fro, 

Drearily  drenched  in  the  ocean  brine, 
Soaring  high  and  sinking  low, 

Lashed  along  without  will  of  mine; 
Sport  of  the  spume  of  the  surging  sea; 

Flung  on  the  foam,  afar  and  anear, 
Mark  my  manifold  mystery,  — 

Growth  and  grace  in  their  place  appear. 

I  bear  round  berries,  gray  and  red, 

Rootless  and  rover  though  I  be; 
My  spangled  leaves,  when  nicely  spread, 

Arboresce  as  a  trunkless  tree; 
Corals  curious  coat  me  o'er, 

White  and  hard  in  apt  array; 
Mid  the  wild  waves'  rude  uproar 

Gracefully  grow  I,  night  and  day. 

Hearts  there  are  on  the  sounding  shore, 

Something  whispers  soft  to  me, 
Restless  and  roaming  forevermore, 

Like  this  weary  weed  of  the  sea; 
Bear  they  yet  on  each  beating  breast 

The  eternal  type  of  the  wondrous  whole, 
Growth  unfolding  amidst  unrest, 

Grace  informing  with  silent  soul. 

Cornelius  George  Fenner 


202  Jul. 


IN  A  LECTURE-ROOM 

uTJLWAY,  haunt  thou  not  me, 

Thou  vain  Philosophy! 

Little  hast  thou  bestead, 

Save  to  perplex  the  head, 

And  leave  the  spirit  dead. 

Unto  thy  broken  cisterns  wherefore  go, 

While  from  the  secret  treasure-depths  below, 

Fed  by  the  skyey  shower, 

And  clouds  that  sink  and  rest  on  hill-tops  high, 

Wisdom  at  once,  and  Power, 

Are  welling,  bubbling  forth,  unseen,  incessantly? 

Why  labor  at  the  dull  mechanic  oar, 

When  the  fresh  breeze  is  blowing, 

And  the  strong  current  flowing, 

Right  onward  to  the  Eternal  Shore? 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 


July  19  203 


LIFE 

J /IFE!    I  know  not  what  thou  art, 

But  know  that  thou  and  I  must  part; 
And  when,  or  how,  or  where  we  met, 
I  own  to  me's  a  secret  yet. 
But  this  I  know,  when  thou  art  fled, 
Where'er  they  lay  these  limbs,  this  head, 
No  clod  so  valueless  shall  be 
As  all  that  then  remains  of  me. 
O  whither,  whither  dost  thou  fly? 
Where  bend  unseen  thy  trackless  course? 

And  in  this  strange  divorce, 
Ah,  tell  where  I  must  seek  this  compound  I? 

Life!    we  have  been  long  together, 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather; 
'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear; 
Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear;  — 
Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 
Choose  thine  own  time; 
Say  not  Good-night,  but  in  some  brighter  clime 
Bid  me  Good-morning! 

Anna  L^etitia  Barbauld 


204  July   20 


F, 


LOW  SPIRITS 


EVER  and  fret  and  aimless  stir, 
And  disappointed  strife, 
All  chafing,  unsuccessful  things 
Make  up  the  sum  of  life. 

Love  adds  anxiety  to  toil, 

And  sameness  doubles  cares, 
While  one  unbroken  chain  of  work 

The  flagging  temper  wears. 

Voices  are  round  me,  smiles  are  near, 

Kind  welcomes  to  be  had, 
And  yet  my  spirit  is  alone, 

Fretful,  outworn,  and  sad. 

Sweet  thought  of  God,  now  do  thy  work, 

As  thou  hast  done  before; 
Wake  up,  and  tears  will  wake  with  thee, 

And  the  dull  mood  be  o'er. 

The  very  thinking  of  the  thought, 

Without  or  praise  or  prayer, 
Gives  light  to  know,  and  life  to  do, 

And  marvellous  strength  to  bear. 

I  bless  Thee,  Lord,  for  this  kind  check 

To  spirits  over  free, 
And  for  all  things  that  make  me  feel 

More  helpless  need  of  Thee. 

Frederick  William  Faber 


July  21  205 


REST 

X.  O  spend  the  long  warm  days 
Silent  beside  the  silent-stealing  streams, 

To  see,  not  gaze,  — 
To  hear,  not  listen,  thoughts  exchanged  for  dreams: 

See  clouds  that  slowly  pass 
Trailing  their  shadows  o'er  the  far  faint  down, 

And  ripening  grass, 
While  yet  the  meadows  wear  their  starry  crown: 

To  hear  the  breezes  sigh 
Cool  in  the  silver  leaves  like  falling  rain, 

Pause  and  go  by, 
Tired  wanderers  o'er  the  solitary  plain: 

See  far  from  all  afright 
Shy  river  creatures  play  hour  after  hour, 

And  night  by  night 
Low  in  the  West  the  white  moon's  folding  flower. 

Thus  lost  to  human  things, 
To  blend  at  last  with  Nature,  and  to  hear 

What  song  she  sings 
Low  to  herself  when  there  is  no  one  near. 

Margaret  L.  Woods 


2o6  July  2  2 


A   POET'S   EPITAPH 

ROBERT    BURNS:     DIED   JULY    21,    1 796 

^TOP,  mortal!     Here  thy  brother  lies  — 

The  poet  of  the  poor. 
His  books  were  rivers,  woods,  and  skies, 

The  meadow  and  the  moor; 
His  teachers  were  the  torn  heart's  wail, 

The  tyrant,  and  the  slave, 
The  street,  the  factory,  the  jail, 

The  palace  —  and  the  grave! 
Sin  met  thy  brother  everywhere! 

And  is  thy  brother  blam'd  ? 
From  passion,  danger,  doubt,  and  care 

He  no  exemption  claim'd. 
The  meanest  thing,  earth's  feeblest  worm, 

He  feared  to  scorn  or  hate; 
But,  honoring  in  a  peasant's  form 

The  equal  of  the  great, 
He  bless'd  the  steward,  whose  wealth  makes 

The  poor  man's  little,  more; 
Yet  Ioath'd  the  haughty  wretch  that  takes 

From  plunder'd  labor's  store. 
A  hand  to  do,  a  head  to  plan, 

A  heart  to  feel  and  dare  — 
Tell  man's  worst  foes,  here  lies  the  man 

Who  drew  them  as  they  are. 

Ebenezer  Elliott 


I 


J  u  ly   2  3  20' 

A  BARD'S   EPITAPH 


S  there  a  whim-inspired  fool, 
Owre  fast  for  thought,  owre  hot  for  rule, 
Owre  blate  to  seek,  owre  prood  to  snool, 

Let  him  draw  near; 
And  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool, 

And  drap  a  tear. 

Is  there  a  Bard  of  rustic  song, 

Who,  noteless,  steals  the  crowds  among 

That  weekly  this  area  throng, 

O,  pass  not  by! 
But,  with  a  f rater-feeling  strong, 

Here,  heave  a  sigh. 

Is  there  a  man  whose  judgment  clear, 
Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer, 
Yet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career 

Wild  as  the  wave; 
Here  pause  —  and,  thro'  the  starting  tear, 

Survey  this  grave. 

The  poor  Inhabitant  below 

Was  quick  to  learn,  and  wise  to  know, 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

And  softer  flame; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

And  stain'd  his  name! 

Reader,  attend  —  whether  thy  soul 
Soars  fancy's  flights  beyond  the  pole, 
Or  darkling  grubs  this  earthly  hole, 

In  low  pursuit; 
Know,  prudent,  cautious,  self-control 

Is  wisdom's  root.     Robert  Burns 


2o8  July   2  4 


ILKA  BLADE  O'  GRASS  KEPS  ITS  AIN 
DRAP  O'   DEW 

VjONFIDE  ye  aye  in  Providence,  for  Providence 
is  kind, 

And  bear  ye  a'  life's  changes  \vi'  a  calm  and  tran- 
quil mind, 

Though  pressed  and  hemmed  on  every  side,  ha'e 
faith  and  ye'll  win  through, 

For  ilka  blade  o'  grass  keps  its  ain  drap  o'  dew. 

In  Iang,  Iang  days  o'  simmer,  when  the  clear  and 

cloudless  sky 
Refuses  ae  wee  drap  o'  rain  to  nature  parched  and 

dry, 
The  genial    night,   wi'  balmy  breath,  gars   verdure 

spring  anew, 
And  ilka  blade  o'  grass  keps  its  ain  drap  o'  dew. 

Sae,    lest   'mid   fortune's   sunshine   we   should   feel 

owre  proud  and  hie, 
And  in  our  pride  forget  to  wipe  the  tear  frae  poor- 

tith's  e'e, 
Some  wee  dark  clouds  o'  sorrow  come,  we  ken  na 

whence  or  hoo, 
But  ilka  blade  o'  grass  keps  its  ain  drap  o'  dew. 

James  Ballantine 


July  2  5  209 


LIFE'S  SWEETNESS 

OAD  is  our  youth,  for  it  is  ever  going, 

Crumbling  away  beneath  our  very  feet: 

Sad  is  our  life,  for  onward  it  is  flowing 

In  current  unperceived,  because  so  fleet: 

Sad  are  our  hopes,  for  they  were  sweet  in  sowing, 

But  tares,  self-sown,  have  overtopped  the  wheat; 

Sad  are  our  joys,  for  they  were  sweet  in  blowing; 

And  still,  O  still,  their  dying  breath  is  sweet; 

And  sweet  is  youth,  although  it  hath  bereft  us 

Of  that  which  made  our  childhood  sweeter  still; 

And  sweet  our  life's  decline,  for  it  hath  left  us 

A  nearer  Good  to  cure  an  older  III: 

And  sweet  are  all  things,  when  we  learn  to  prize 

them 
Not  for  their  sake,  but  His  who  grants  them  or 

denies  them! 

Aubrey  Thomas  De  Vere 


2io  July  26 


BEATI    ILLI 


B» 


'LEST  is  the  man  whose  heart  and  hands  are 
pure! 

He  hath  no  sickness  that  he  shall  not  cure, 
No  sorrow  that  he  may  not  well  endure: 
His  feet  are  steadfast  and  his  hope  is  sure. 

Oh,  blest  is  he  who  ne'er  hath  sold  his  soul, 
Whose  will  is  perfect,  and  whose  word  is  whole, 
Who  hath  not  paid  to  common  sense  the  toll 
Of  self-disgrace,  nor  owned  the  world's  control! 

Through  clouds  and  shadows  of  the  darkest  night 
He  will  not  lose  a  glimmering  of  the  light, 
Nor,  though  the  sun  of  day  be  shrouded  quite, 
Swerve  from  the  narrow  path  to  left  or  right. 

John  Addixgton  Svmonds 


J  uly  2  7  211 


A  PRAYER 


O 


GOD,  our  Father,  if  we  had  but  truth! 

Lost  truth  —  which  thou  perchance 
Didst  let  man  lose,  lest  all  his  wayward  youth 

He  waste  in  song  and  dance; 
That  he  might  gain,  in  searching,  mightier  powers 
For  manlier  use  in  those  foreshadowed  hours. 

If,  blindly  groping,  he  shall  oft  mistake, 

And  follow  twinkling  motes 
Thinking  them  stars,  and  the  one  voice  forsake 

Of  Wisdom  for  the  notes 
Which  mocking  Beauty  utters  here  and  there, 
Thou  surely  wilt  forgive  him,  and  forbear! 

Oh  love  us,  for  we  love  thee,  Maker  —  God! 

And  would  creep  near  thy  hand, 
And  call  thee  "Father,  Father,"  from  the  sod 

Where  by  our  graves  we  stand, 
And  pray  to  touch,  fearless  of  scorn  or  blame, 
Thy  garment's   hem,   which  Truth   and   Good  w 
name. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill 


212  July   2  8 


IF   WE   HAD   BUT  A   DAY 


w, 


E   should  fill    the    hours    with    the   sweetest 
things, 
If  we  had  but  a  day; 
We  should  drink  alone  at  the  purest  springs 

In  our  upward  way; 
We  should  love  with  a  life-time's  love  in  an  hour 

If  the  hours  were  few; 
We  should  rest,  not  for  dreams,  but  for  fresher  power 
To  be  and  to  do. 

We  should  guide  our  wayward  or  wearied  wills 

By  the  clearest  light; 
We  should  keep  our  eyes  on  the  heavenly  hills, 

If  they  lay  in  sight; 
We  should  trample  the  pride  and  the  discontent 

Beneath  our  feet; 
We  should  take  whatever  a  good  God  sent 

With  a  trust  complete. 

We  should  waste  no  moments  in  weak  regret, 

If  the  day  were  but  one; 
If  what  we  remember  and  what  we  forget 

Went  out  with  the  sun; 
We  should  be  from  our  clamorous  selves  set  free, 

To  work  or  to  pray, 
And  to  be  what  the  Father  would  have  us  be. 

If  we  had  but  a  day. 

Mary  Lowe  Dickinson 


July  29  213 


BODY  AND  SOUL 

1  OOR  Soul,  the  centre  of  my  sinful  earth, 
FooI'd  by  these  rebel  powers  that  thee  array, 
Why  dost  thou  pine  within  and  suffer  dearth, 
Painting  thy  outward  walls  so  costly  gay? 
Why  so  large  cost,  having  so  short  a  lease, 
Dost  thou  upon  thy  fading  mansion  spend? 
Shall  worms,  inheritors  of  this  excess, 
Eat  up  thy  charge?   is  this  thy  body's  end? 
Then,  soul,  live  thou  upon  thy  servant's  loss, 
And  let  that  pine  to  aggravate  thy  store; 
Buy  terms  divine  in  selling  hours  of  dross; 
Within  be  fed,  without  be  rich  no  more: 

So  shalt  thou  feed  on  Death,  that  feeds  on  men, 
And  Death  once  dead,  there's  no  more  dying  then. 

Shakespeare 


214  J  u  I  y   3  0 


PIETY 

FROM    "eGERIA1 


o 


PIETY!    O  heavenly  Piety! 
She  is  not  rigid  as  fanatics  deem, 
But  warm  as  Love,  and  beautiful  as  Hope. 

Prop  of  the  weak,  the  crown  of  humbleness, 
The  clue  of  doubt,  the  eyesight  of  the  blind, 
The  heavenly  robe  and  garniture  of  clay. 

Sweet  Piety!    divinest  Piety! 
She  has  a  soul  capacious  as  the  spheres, 
A  heart  as  large  as  all  humanity. 

Who  to  his  dwelling  takes  that  visitant, 
Has  a  perpetual  solace  in  all  pain, 
A  friend  and  comforter  in  every  grief. 

The  noblest  domes,  the  haughtiest  palaces, 
That  know  not  her,  have  ever  open  gates 
Where  Misery  may  enter  at  her  will. 

But  from  the  threshold  of  the  poorest  hut, 
Where  she  sits  smiling,  Sorrow  passes  b}% 
And  owns  the  spell  that  robs  her  of  her  sting. 

Charles  Mackay 


J  u  ly    3  1  215 


THE  CHILDHOOD   FAITH 
FROM   "ASTR/£A:   the  balance  of  illusions' 


w. 


HAT  is  thy  creed?"  a  hundred  lips  inquire; 
'Thou  seekest  God  beneath  what  Christian  spire?" 
Nor  ask  they  idly,  for  uncounted  lies 
Float  upward  on  the  smoke  of  sacrifice; 
When  man's  first  incense  rose  above  the  plain, 
Of  earth's  two  altars  one  was  built  by  Cain! 

Uncursed  by  doubt,  our  earliest  creed  we  take; 
We  love  the  precepts  for  the  teacher's  sake; 
The  simple  lessons  which  the  nursery  taught 
Fell  soft  and  stainless  on  the  buds  of  thought, 
And  the  full  blossom  owes  its  fairest  hue 
To  those  sweet  tear-drops  of  affection's  dew. 

Too  oft  the  light  that  led  our  earlier  hours 
Fades  with  the  perfume  of  our  cradle  flowers; 
The  clear,  cold  question  chills  to  frozen  doubt; 
Tired  of  beliefs,  we  dread  to  live  without; 
Oh,  then,  if  reason  waver  at  thy  side, 
Let  humbler  Memory  be  thy  gentle  guide; 
Go  to  thy  birth-place,  and,  if  faith  was  there, 
Repeat  thy  father's  creed,  thy  mother's  prayer! 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


2 1 6  August! 


COD'S   FIRST  TEMPLES 

FROM    "A    FOREST    HYMN'" 

JL   HE  groves  were  God's  first  temples.     Ere  man 
learned 
To  hew  the  shaft,  and  lay  the  architrave, 
And  spread  the  roof  above  them  —  ere  he  framed 
The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  back 
The  sound  of  anthems;    in  the  darkling  wood, 
Amid  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down, 
And  offered  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  thanks 
And  supplication.     For  his  simple  heart 
Might  not  resist  the  sacred  influence 
Which,  from  the  stilly  twilight  of  the  place, 
And  from  the  gray  old  trunks  that  high  in  heaven 
Mingled  their  mossy  boughs,  and  from  the  sound 
Of  the  invisible  breath  that  swayed  at  once 
All  their  green  tops,  stole  over  him,  and  bowed 
His  spirit  with  the  thought  of  boundless  power 
And  inaccessible  majesty.     Ah,  why 
Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 
God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore 
Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 
That  our  frail  hands  have  raised?     Let  me,  at  least, 
Here  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood, 
Offer  one  hymn  —  thrice  happy  if  it  find 
Acceptance  in  His  ear. 

William  Cullex  Bryant 


August  2  217 


A   NAME   IN  THE  SAND 


A 


.LONE  I  walked  the  ocean  strand. 
A  pearly  shell  was  in  my  hand; 
I  stooped  and  wrote  upon  the  sand 

My  name  —  the  year  —  the  day. 
As  onward  from  the  spot  I  passed, 
One  lingering  look  behind  I  cast; 
A  wave  came  rolling  high  and  fast, 

And  washed  my  lines  away. 

And  so,  methought,  'twill  shortly  be 
With  every  mark  on  earth  from  me: 
A  wave  of  dark  oblivion's  sea 

Will  sweep  across  the  place 
Where  I  have  trod  the  sandy  shore 
Of  time,  and  been,  to  be  no  more, 
Of  me  —  my  day  —  the  name  I  bore, 

To  leave  nor  track  nor  trace. 

And  yet,  with  Him  who  counts  the  sands 
And  holds  the  waters  in  his  hands, 
I  know  a  lasting  record  stands 

Inscribed  against  my  name, 
Of  all  this  mortal  part  has  wrought, 
Of  all  this  thinking  soul  has  thought, 
And  from  these  fleeting  moments  caught 

For  glory  or  for  shame. 

Hannah  Flagg  Gould 


218  August   3 


G, 


NATURE'S  TEACHING 

FROM    "RHCECUS" 


^OD  sends  his  teachers  unto  every  age, 
To  every  clime,  and  every  race  of  men, 
With  revelations  fitted  to  their  growth 
And  shape  of  mind,  nor  gives  the  realm  of  Truth 
Into  the  selfish  rule  of  one  sole  race: 
Therefore  each  form  of  worship  that  hath  swayed 
The  life  of  man,  and  given  it  to  grasp 
The  master-key  of  knowledge,  reverence, 
Enfolds  some  germs  of  goodness  and  of  right; 
Else  never  had  the  eager  soul,  which  loathes 
The  slothful  down  of  pampered  ignorance, 
Found  in  it  even  a  moment's  fitful  rest. 

There  is  an  instinct  in  the  human  heart 
Which  makes  that  all  the  fables  it  hath  coined, 
To  justify  the  reign  of  its  belief 
And  strengthen  it  by  beauty's  right  divine, 
Veil  in  their  inner  cells  a  mystic  gift, 
Which,  like  the  hazel  twig,  in  faithful  hands, 
Points  surely  to  the  hidden  springs  of  truth. 
...   In  whatsoe'er  the  heart 
Hath  fashioned  for  a  solace  to  itself, 
To  make  its  inspirations  suit  its  creed, 
And  from  the  niggard  hands  of  falsehood  wring 
Its  needful  food  of  truth,  there  ever  is 
A  sympathy  with  Nature,  which  reveals, 
Not  less  than  her  own  works,  pure  gleams  of  light 
And  earnest  parables  of  inward  lore. 

James  Russell  Lowell 


August  4  219 


THE  OVER-SOUL 

FROM    "THE    PROBLEM* 


N. 


OT  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 
His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought; 
Never  from  lips  of  cunning  fell 
The  thrilling  Delphic  oracle; 
Out  from  the  heart  of  nature  rolled 
The  burdens  of  the  Bible  old; 
The  litanies  of  nations  came, 
Like  the  volcano's  tongue  of  flame, 
Up  from  the  burning  core  below,  — 
The  canticles  of  love  and  woe; 
The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome, 
And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome, 
Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity; 
Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free; 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew;  — 
The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew. 

The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken 
Was  writ  on  tables  yet  unbroken; 
The  word  by  seers  or  sibyls  told, 
In  groves  of  oak,  or  fanes  of  gold, 
Still  floats  upon  the  morning  wind, 
Still  whispers  to  the  willing  mind. 
One  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
The  heedless  world  hath  never  lost. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 


220  AugUSt 


I    PRAISED  THE   EARTH 


I 


PRAISED  the  earth,  in  beauty  seen 
With  garlands  gay  of  various  green; 
I  praised  the  sea,  whose  ample  field 
Shone  glorious  as  a  silver  shield; 
And  earth  and  ocean  seemed  to  say, 
"Our  beauties  are  but  for  a  day." 

I  praised  the  sun,  whose  chariot  rolled 
On  wheels  of  amber  and  of  gold; 
I  praised  the  moon,  whose  softer  eye 
Gleamed  sweetly  through  the  summer  sky; 
And  moon  and  sun  in  answer  said, 
"Our  days  of  light  are  numbered." 

O  God!  O  Good  beyond  compare! 
If  thus  thy  meaner  works  are  fair 
If  thus  thy  bounties  gild  the  span 
Of  ruined  earth  and  sinful  man, 
How  glorious  must  the  mansion  be 
"Where  Thy  Redeemed  shall  dwell  with  Thee! 

Reginald  Heber 


A  U  g  U  S  t     6  221 


THE   INNER  CALM 

V><ALM  me,  my  God,  and  keep  me  calm, 

While  these  hot  breezes  blow; 
Be  like  the  night-dew's  cooling  balm 

Upon  earth's  fevered  brow. 

Calm  me,  my  God,  and  keep  me  calm, 

Soft  resting  on  thy  breast; 
Soothe  me  with  holy  hymn  and  psalm 

And  bid  my  spirit  rest. 

Yes,  keep  me  calm,  though  loud  and  rude 

The  sounds  my  ear  that  greet, 
Calm  in  the  closet's  solitude, 

Calm  in  the  bustling  street; 

Calm  in  the  hour  of  buoyant  health, 

Calm  in  my  hour  of  pain, 
Calm  in  my  poverty  or  wealth, 

Calm  in  my  loss  or  gain; 

Calm  in  the  sufferance  of  wrong, 

Like  Him  who  bore  my  shame, 
Calm  mid  the  threatening,  taunting  throng, 

Who  hate  thy  holy  name; 

Calm  as  the  ray  of  sun  or  star 

Which  storms  assail  in  vain, 
Moving  unruffled  through  earth's  war, 

The  eternal  calm  to  gain. 

HORATIUS   BONAR 


222  August  7 


PLUCK 

FROM    "  URANIA:    A    RHYMED    LESSON ' 


B 


E  firm!    one  constant  element  in  luck 
Is  genuine,  solid,  old  Teutonic  pluck; 
See  yon  tall  shaft;    it  felt  the  earthquake's  thrill, 
Clung  to  its  base,  and  greets  the  sunrise  still. 

Stick  to  your  aim;   the  mongrel's  hold  will  slip, 
But  only  crowbars  loose  the  bulldog's  grip; 
Small  as  he  looks,  the  jaw  that  never  yields 
Drags  down  the  bellowing  monarch  of  the  fields! 

Yet  in  opinions  look  not  always  back; 
Your  wake  is  nothing,  mind  the  coming  track; 
Leave  what  you've  done  for  what  you  have  to  do; 
Don't  be  "consistent,"  but  be  simply  true. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


August  8  223 


COURAGE 

FROM    "ALBUM    LEAVES' 


D 


'ARKNESS  before,  all  joy  behind! 
Yet  keep  thy  courage,  do  not  mind: 
He  soonest  reads  the  lesson  right 
Who  reads  with  back  against  the  light! 

George  Houghton 


224  August  9 


THE  SEA  SHELL 

FROM    "THE    EXCURSION'' 


I 


HAVE  seen 
A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract 
Of  inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 
The  convolutions  of  a  smooth-lipped  shell; 
To  which,  in  silence  hushed,  his  very  soul 
Listened  intensely;    and  his  countenance  soon 
Brightened  with  joy;    for  from  within  were  heard 
Murmurings,  whereby  the  monitor  expressed 
Mysterious  union  with  its  native  sea. 
Even  such  a  shell  the  universe  itself 
Is  to  the  ear  of  Faith;   and  there  are  times, 
I  doubt  not,  when  to  you  it  doth  impart 
Authentic  tidings  of  invisible  things; 
Of  ebb  and  flow,  and  ever-during  power; 
And  central  peace,  subsisting  at  the  heart 
Of  endless  agitation. 

William  Wordsworth 


August  10  225 


GREAT  OCEAN! 

FROM    "THE    COURSE    OF    TIME 


G 


REAT  Ocean!    strongest  of  creation's  sons, 
Unconquerable,  unreposed,  untired, 
That  rolled  the  wild,  profound,  eternal  bass 
In  nature's  anthem,  and  made  music  such 
As  pleased  the  ear  of  God!    original, 
Unmarred,  unfaded  work  of  Deity! 
And  unburlesqued  by  mortal's  puny  skill; 
From  age  to  age  enduring,  and  unchanged, 
Majestical,  inimitable,  vast; 
Loud  uttering  satire,  day  and  night,  on  each 
Succeeding  race,  and  little  pompous  work 
Of  man;    unfallen,  religious,  holy  sea! 
Thou  bowedest  thy  glorious  head  to  none,  fearedst 

none, 
Heardst  none,  to  none  didst  honor,  but  to  God 
Thy  Maker,  only  worthy  to  receive 
Thy  great  obeisance. 

Robert  Pollok 


226  August  11 


CHRIST  LONGED   FOR 


o 


GOD,  impart  Thy  blessing  to  my  cries, 
Tho'  I  trust  deeply,  yet  I  daily  err; 
The  waters  of  my  heart  are  oft  astir:  — 
An  Angel's  there!    and  yet  I  cannot  rise! 

I  wish  that  Christ  were  here  among  us  still, 
Proffering  His  bosom  to  His  servant's  brow; 
But  oh!   that  holy  voice  comes  o'er  us  now 
Like  twilight  echoes  from  a  distant  hill: 

We  long  for  His  pure  looks  and  words  sublime; 
His  lowly-lofty  innocence  and  grace; 
The  talk  sweet-toned,  and  blessing  all  the  time; 
The  mountain  sermon  and  the  ruthful  gaze; 
The  cheerly  credence  gathered  from  His  face; 
His  voice  in  village-groups  at  eve  or  prime! 

Charles  Tennyson  Turner 


August  12  227 


FREE  SPIRIT 

FROM    "THE    SOUL" 

OlN  clouds  the  mind's  clear  vision; 
Around  the  self-starved  soul  has  spread  a  dearth. 
The  earth  is  full  of  life;   the  living  Hand 
Touched  it  with  life;   and  all  its  forms  expand 
With  principles  of  being  made  to  suit 
Man's  varied  powers  and  raise  him  from  the  brute. 
And  shall  the  earth  of  higher  ends  be  full,  — 
Earth  which  thou  tread'st,  —  and  thy  poor  mind  be 

dull? 
Thou  talk  of  life,  with  half  thy  so.ul  asleep? 
Thou  "living  dead  man,"  let  thy  spirit  leap 
Forth  to  the  day,  and  let  the  fresh  air  blow 
Through    thy    soul's    shut-up    mansion.     Wouldst 

thou  know 
Something  of  what  is  life,  shake  off  this  death; 
Have  thy  soul  feel  the  universal  breath 
With  which  all  nature's  quick,  and  learn  to  be 
Sharer  in  all  that  thou  dost  touch  or  see; 
Break  from  thy  body's  grasp,  thy  spirit's  trance; 
Give  thy  soul  air,  thy  faculties  expanse; 
Love,  joy,  even  sorrow,  —  yield  thyself  to  all! 
They  make  thy  freedom,  groveller,  not  thy  thrall. 
Knock  off  the  shackles  which  thy  spirit  bind 
To  dust  and  sense,  and  set  at  large  the  mind! 
Then  move  in  sympathy  with  Qod's  great  whole, 
And  be  like  man  at  first,  a  living  soul. 

Richard  Henry  Dana 


228  August  13 

BLISSFUL   YOUTH 

FROM    "ON   A  DISTANT   PROSPECT  OF   ETON   COLLEGE 

JL    E  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers, 

That  crowned  the  watery  glade, 
Where  grateful  Science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's  holy  shade; 
And  ye  that  from  the  stately  brow 
Of  Windsor's  heights  the  expanse  below 

Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey, 
Whose  turf,  whose  shade,  whose  flowers  among 
Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  along 

His  silvery  winding  way: 

Ah,  happy  hills!    ah,  pleasing  shade! 

Ah,  fields  beloved  in  vain!  — 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain! 

To  each  his  sufferings:    all  are  men, 

Condemned  alike  to  groan; 
The  tender  for  another's  pain, 

The  unfeeling  for  his  own. 
Yet,  ah!    why  should  they  know  their  fate, 
Since  sorrow  never  comes  too  late, 

And  happiness  too  swiftly  flies? 
Thought  would  destroy  their  paradise. 
No  more:  —  whefie  ignorance  is  bliss, 

'Tis  folly  to  be  wise! 

Thomas  Gray 


August  14  229 


A  SUMMER  EVENING 

J.  J.  OW  fine  has  the  day  been!    how  bright  was 

the  sun! 
How  lovely  and  joyful  the  course  that  he  run, 
Though  he  rose  in  a  mist  when  his  race  he  begun, 

And  there  followed  some  droppings  of  rain! 
But  now  the  fair  traveller's  come  to  the  west, 
His  rays  are  all  gold,  and  his  beauties  are  best: 
He  paints  the  sky  gay  as  he  sinks  to  his  rest, 

And  foretells  a  bright  rising  again. 

Just  such  is  the  Christian:   his  course  he  begins, 
Like  the  sun  in  a  mist,  when  he  mourns  for  his  sins, 
And  melts  into  tears;  then  he  breaks  out  and  shines, 

And  travels  his  heavenly  way: 
But  when  he  comes  nearer  to  finish  his  race, 
Like  a  fine  setting  sun,  he  looks  richer  in  grace, 
And  gives  a  sure  hope,  at  the  end  of  his  days, 

Of  rising  in  brighter  array. 

Isaac  Watts 


230  August  15 


A  WISH 

A   HIS  only  grant  me,  that  my  means  may  lie 
Too  low  for  envy,  for  contempt  too  high. 

Some  honour  I  would  have, 
Not  from  great  deeds,  but  good  alone. 
The  unknown  are  better,  than  ill  known; 

Rumour  can  ope  the  grave. 
Acquaintance  I  would  have,  but  when't  depends 
Not  on  the  number,  but  the  choice  of  friends. 

Books  should,  not  business,  entertain  the  light, 
And  sleep,  as  undisturb'd  as  death,  the  night. 

My  house  a  cottage  more 
Than  palace,  and  should  fitting  be, 
For  all  my  use,  no  luxury. 

My  garden  painted  o'er 
With  nature's  hand,  not  art's;   and  pleasures  yield, 
Horace  might  envy  in  his  Sabine  field. 

Thus  would  I  double  my  life's  fading  space, 
For  he  that  runs  it  well,  twice  runs  his  race. 

And  in  this  true  delight, 
These  unbought  sports,  this  happy  state, 
I  would  not  fear  nor  wish  my  fate, 

But  boldly  say  each  night, 
To-morrow  let  my  sun  his  beams  display, 
Or,  in  clouds  hide  them;    I  have  Iiv'd  to-day. 

Abraham  Cowley 


Au  gust  16  231 

CONTENTMENT 


I 


WEIGH  not  fortune's  frown  or  smile; 

I  joy  not  much  in  earthly  joys; 
I  seek  not  state,  I  reck  not  style; 

I  am  not  fond  of  fancy's  toys: 
I  rest  so  pleased  with  what  I  have, 
I  wish  no  more,  no  more  I  crave. 

I  quake  not  at  the  thunder's  crack; 

I  tremble  not  at  news  of  war; 
I  swound  not  at  the  news  of  wrack; 

I  shrink  not  at  a  blazing  star; 
I  fear  not  loss,  I  hope  not  gain, 
I  envy  none,  I  none  disdain. 

I  see  ambition  never  pleased; 

I  see  some  Tantals  starved  in  store; 
I  see  gold's  dropsy  seldom  eased; 

I  see  even  Midas  gape  for  more; 
I  neither  want  nor  yet  abound,  — 
Enough's  a  feast,  content  is  crowned. 

I  feign  not  friendship  where  I  hate; 

I  fawn  not  on  the  great  (in  show); 
I  prize,  I  praise  a  mean  estate,  — 

Neither  too  lofty  nor  too  low: 
This,  this  is  all  my  choice,  my  cheer,  — 
A  mind  content,  a  conscience  clear. 

Joshua  Sylvester 


232  August  17 


RETIREMENT 


o 


LET  me  be  alone  awhile! 
No  human  form  is  nigh; 
And  I  may  sing  and  muse  awhile 
No  mortal  ear  is  by. 

Away!    ye  dreams  of  earthly  bliss, 

Ye  earthly  cares  begone! 
Depart!    ye  restless  wandering  thoughts, 

And  let  me  be  alone! 

One  hour,  my  spirit,  stretch  thy  wings 

And  quit  this  joyless  sod; 
Bask  in  the  sunshine  of  the  sky, 

And  be  alone  with  God! 

Emily  Bronte 


An  gust  18  233 


GOD  EVERYWHERE  IN  NATURE 


H, 


OW  desolate  were  nature,  and  how  void 
Of  every  charm,  how  like  a  naked  waste 
Of  Africa,  were  not  a  present  God 
Beheld  employing,  in  its  various  scenes, 
His  active  might  to  animate  and  adorn! 
What  life  and  beauty,  when,  in  all  that  breathe 
Or  moves,  or  grows,  his  hand  is  viewed  at  work 
When  it  is  viewed  unfolding  every  bud, 
Each  blossom  tingeing,  shaping  every  leaf, 
Wafting  each  cloud  that  passes  o'er  the  sky, 
Rolling  each  billow,  moving  every  wing 
That  fans  the  air,  and  every  warbling  throat 
Heard  in  the  tuneful  woodlands!     In  the  least 
As  well  as  in  the  greatest  of  his  works 
Is  ever  manifest  his  presence  kind; 
As  well  in  swarms  of  glittering  insects,  seen 
Quick  to  and  fro  within  a  foot  of  air, 
Dancing  a  merry  hour,  then  seen  no  more, 
As  in  the  systems  of  resplendent  worlds, 
Through  time  revolving  in  unbounded  space. 
His  eye,  while  comprehending  in  one  view 
The  whole  creation,  fixes  full  on  me; 
As  on  me  shines  the  sun  with  his  full  blaze, 
While  o'er  the  hemisphere  he  spreads  the  same, 
His  hand,  while  holding  oceans  in  its  palm, 
And  compassing  the  skies,  surrounds  my  life, 
Guards  the  poor  rushlight  from  the  blast  of  death. 

Carlos  Wilcox 


234  August  19 

NATURE'S    HYMNS 

FROM    "THE    TENT    ON    THE    BEACH " 

X  HE  harp  at  Nature's  advent  strung 
Has  never  ceased  to  play; 
The  song  the  stars  of  morning  sung 
Has  never  died  away. 

And  prayer  is  made,  and  praise  is  given, 

By  all  things  near  and  far; 
The  ocean  Iooketh  up  to  heaven, 

And  mirrors  every  star. 

The  green  earth  sends  her  incense  up 
From  many  a  mountain  shrine; 

From  folded  leaf  and  dewy  cup 
She  pours  her  sacred  wine. 

The  mists  above  the  morning  rills 
Rise  white  as  wings  of  prayer; 

The  altar  curtains  of  the  hills 
Are  sunset's  purple  air. 

The  blue  sky  is  the  temple's  arch, 

Its  transept  earth  and  air, 
The  music  of  its  starry  march 

The  chorus  of  a  prayer. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


August  20  235 


PICTURES 

FROM    "DE    MONTFORT' 


D. 


OTH   the  bright  sun  from  the    high  arch  of 
heaven, 
In  all  his  beauteous  robes  of  fleckered  clouds, 
And  ruddy  vapours,  and  deep-glowing  flames, 
And  softly  varied  shades,  look  glorious? 
Do  the  green  woods  dance  to  the  wind?     The  lakes 
Cast  up  their  sparkling  waters  to  the  light? 
Do  the  sweet  hamlets  in  their  bushy  dells 
Send  winding  up  to  heaven  their  curling  smoke 
On  the  soft  morning  air? 

Do  the  flocks  bleat,  and  the  wild  creatures  bound 
In  antic  happiness?    and  mazy  birds 
Wing  the  mid  air  in  lightly  skimming  bands? 
Ay,  all  this  is  —  men  do  behold  all  this  — 
The  poorest  man. 

Joanna  Baillie 


236 


August  21 


AS   PANTS  THE   HART 


A: 


.S  pants  the  hart  for  cooling  streams, 
When  heated  in  the  chase, 
So  longs  my  soul,  O  God,  for  Thee; 
And  Thy  refreshing  grace. 


For  Thee,  my  God,  the  living  God, 

My  thirsty  soul  doth  pine: 
O  when  shall  I  behold  Thy  Face, 

Thou  Majesty  Divine? 

Why  restless,  why  cast  down,  my  soul? 

Trust  God,  who  will  employ 
His  aid  for  thee,  and  change  these  sighs 

To  thankful  hymns  of  joy. 

Why  restless,  why  cast  down,  my  soul? 

Hope  still,  and  thou  shalt  sing 
The  praise  of  Him  Who  is  thy  God, 

Thy  health's  eternal  spring. 


To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

The  God  Whom  we  adore, 
Be  glory,  as  it  was,  is  now, 

And  shall  be  evermore. 

Nahtjm  Tate  and  Nicholas  Brady 


August  2  2  237 


HYMN  OF   PRAISE 


H 


ARK,  my  soul,  how  every  thing 
Strives  to  serve  our  bounteous  King; 
Each  a  double  tribute  pays; 
Sings  its  part,  and  then  obeys. 

Nature's  sweet  and  chiefest  quire 
Him  with  cheerful  notes  admire; 
Chanting  every  day  their  lauds, 
While  the  grove  their  song  applauds. 

Though  their  voices  lower  be, 
Streams  have  too  their  melody; 
Night  and  day  they  warbling  run, 
Never  pause,  but  still  sing  on. 

All  the  flowers  that  gild  the  spring 
Hither  their  still  music  bring; 
If  Heaven  bless  them,  thankful  they 
Smell  more  sweet,  and  look  more  gay. 

Only  we  can  scarce  afford 
This  short  office  to  our  Lord; 
We,  —  on  whom  His  bounty  flows, 
All  things  gives,  and  nothing  owes. 

Wake,  for  shame,  my  sluggish  heart, 
Wake,  and  gladly  sing  thy  part: 
Learn  of  birds,  and  springs,  and  flowers, 
How  to  use  thy  noble  powers. 

John  Austin 


238  August  2  3 


THE  WATER-LILY 


o 


STAR  on  the  breast  of  the  river! 

0  marvel  of  bloom  and  grace! 
Did  you  fall  right  down  from  heaven, 

Out  of  the  sweetest  place? 
You  are  white  as  the  thoughts  of  an  angel, 

Your  heart  is  steeped  in  the  sun: 
Did  you  grow  in  the  Golden  City, 

My  pure  and  radiant  one?" 

'Nay,  nay,  I  fell  not  out  of  heaven; 

None  gave  me  my  saintly  white: 
It  slowly  grew  from  the  darkness, 

Down  in  the  dreary  night. 
From  the  ooze  of  the  silent  river 

1  won  my  glory  and  grace. 
White  souls  fall  not,  O  my  poet, 

They  rise  —  to  the  sweetest  place." 

Mary  Frances  Butts 


August  24  239 


THE  CHILD 

OEE  yon  blithe  child  that  dances  in  our  sight! 
Can  gloomy  shadows  fall  from  one  so  bright? 

Fond  mother,  whence  these  fears? 
While  buoyantly  he  rushes  o'er  the  lawn, 
Dream  not  of  clouds  to  stain  his  manhood's  dawn, 

Nor  dim  that  sight  with  tears. 

No  cloud  he  spies  in  brightly  glowing  hours, 
But  feels  as  if  the  newly  vested  bowers 

For  him  could  never  fade: 
Too  well  we  know  that  vernal  pleasures  fleet, 
But  having  him,  so  gladsome,  fair,  and  sweet, 

Our  loss  is  overpaid. 

Amid  the  balmiest  flowers  that  earth  can  give 
Some  bitter  drops  distil,  and  all  that  live 

A  mingled  portion  share; 
But,  while  he  learns  these  truths  which  we  lament, 
Such  fortitude  as  ours  will  sure  be  sent, 

Such  solace  to  his  care. 

Sara  Coleridge 


240  August  25 


THE  SEA 


B 


'EAUTIFUL,  sublime,  and  glorious; 
Mild,  majestic,  foaming,  free,  — 
Over  time  itself  victorious, 
Image  of  eternity! 

Sun  and  moon  and  stars  shine  o'er  thee, 

See  thy  surface  ebb  and  flow, 
Yet  attempt  not  to  explore  thee 

In  thy  soundless  depths  below. 

Whether  morning's  splendours  steep  thee 
With  the  rainbow's  glowing  grace, 

Tempests  rouse,  or  navies  sweep  thee, 
'Tis  but  for  a  moment's  space. 

Earth,  —  her  valleys  and  her  mountains, 

Mortal  man's  behests  obey; 
The  unfathomable  fountains 

Scoff  his  search  and  scorn  his  sway. 

Such  art  thou,  stupendous  Ocean! 

But,  if  overwhelmed  by  thee, 
Can  we  think,  without  emotion, 

What  must  thy  Creator  be? 

Bernard  Barton 


An  gust  2  6  241 

EVENING  AND   MORNING   STAR 

FROM    "IN    MEMORJAM'"' 

OAD  Hesper  o'er  the  buried  sun, 
And  ready,  thou,  to  die  with  him, 
Thou  watchest  all  things  ever  dim 

And  dimmer,  and  a  glory  done; 

The  team  is  loosened  from  the  wain, 
The  boat  is  drawn  upon  the  shore; 
Thou  Iistenest  to  the  closing  door, 

And  life  is  darkened  in  the  brain. 

Bright  Phosphor,  fresher  for  the  night, 
By  thee  the  world's  great  work  is  heard 
Beginning,  and  the  wakeful  bird; 

Behind  thee  comes  the  greater  light : 

The  market-boat  is  on  the  stream, 
And  voices  hail  it  from  the  brink; 
Thou  hear'st  the  village  hammer  clink, 

And  seest  the  moving  of  the  team. 

Sweet  Hesper-Phosphor,  double  name 
For  what  is  one,  the  first,  the  last, 
Thou,  like  my  present  and  my  past, 

Thy  place  is  changed,  thou  art  the  same. 

Alfred.  Lord  Tennyson 


242  August  27 


THE  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT 


o 


DAY  of  life,  of  light,  of  love! 
The  only  day  dealt  from  above! 
A  day  so  fresh,  so  bright,  so  brave, 
'Twill  show  us  each  forgotten  grave, 
And  make  the  dead,  like  flowers,  arise 
Youthful  and  fair  to  see  new  skies. 
All  other  days,  compared  to  thee, 
Are  but  Light's  weak  minority; 
They  are  but  veils  and  cypress  drawn 
Like  clouds,  before  thy  glorious  dawn. 
O  come!   arise!   shine!   do  not  stay, 

Dearly  loved  Day! 
The  fields  are  long  since  white,  and  I 
With  earnest  groans  for  freedom  cry; 
My  fellow-creatures  too  say,  Come! 
And  stones,  though  speechless,  are  not  dumb. 
When  shall  we  hear  that  glorious  voice 

Of  life  and  joys? 
That  voice  which  to  each  secret  bed 

Of  my  Lord's  dead 
Shall  bring  true  day,  and  make  dust  see 
The  way  to  immortality? 
When  shall  those  first  white  pilgrims  rise, 
Whose  holy,  happy  histories 
—  Because  they  sleep  so  long  —  some  men 
Count  but  the  blots  of  a  vain  pen? 

Dear  Lord!    make  haste! 

Henry  Vaughan 


August  28  243 


ONWARD 

FROM    "FESTUS' 


o 


H !    ft  is  great  to  feel  that  nought  of  earth, 
Hope,  love,  nor  dread,  nor  care  for  what's  to  come, 
Can  check  the  royal  Iavishment  of  life; 
But,  like  a  streamer  strown  upon  the  wind, 
We  fling  our  souls  to  fate  and  to  the  future. 
For  to  die  young  is  youth's  divinest  gift; 
To  pass  from  one  world  fresh  into  another, 
Ere  change  hath  lost  the  charm  of  soft  regret, 
And  feel  the  immortal  impulse  from  within 
Which  makes  the  coming  life  cry  alway,  On! 
And  follow  it  while  strong,  is  heaven's  last  mercy. 
There  is  a  fire-fly  in  the  south,  but  shines 
When  on  the  wing.     So  is  't  with  mind.    When  once 
We  rest,  we  darken.     On!  saith  God  to  the  soul, 
As  unto  the  earth  for  ever.     On  it  goes, 
A  rejoicing  native  of  the  infinite, 
As  is  a  bird,  of  air;    an  orb,  of  heaven. 

Philip  James  Bailey 


244  August  29 


"THANATOPSIS1 


w, 


HEN  one  can  die  with  the  proud  consciousness 
That  he  will  'bide  forever  with  the  world, 
And  that  when  monarchs  and  their  broods  are  hurled 
Contemptuous  down  Oblivion's  abyss, 
He  will  span  time  like  heaven's  bow:   God!    this 
Must  set  his  blood  to  boiling,  and  with  bliss 
Fill  his  king-heart  up  to  the  very  brim! 
Yet  do  I  know  of  a  sublimer  joy 
Possessing  which  I  would  not  envy  him  — 
O  faith!    the  alchemist  that  turns  th'  alloy 
Of  death  to  golden  calm.     'Tis  when  the  soul, 
Uncaged,  goes  singing  lark-like  thro'  the  spheres 
Confidingly  to  God,  devoid  of  fears, 
Having  on  earth  paid  Paradise  its  toll! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich 


August  SO  245 

WHAT  WAS   GOOD  SHALL  LIVE 

FROM    "ABT    VOGLER" 

X  HERE  shall  never  be  one  lost  good!     What 

was,  shall  live  as  before; 
The  evil  is  null,   is   nought,   is  silence  implying 
sound; 
What  was  good,  shall  be  good,   with,  for  evil,  so 
much  good  more; 
On  the  earth  the  broken  arcs;    in  the  heaven,  a 
perfect  round. 

All  we  have  will'd  or  hop'd  or  dream'd  of  good,  shall 
exist; 
Not  its   semblance,   but  itself;     no   beauty,    nor 
good,  nor  power 
Whose  voice  has  gone  forth,  but  each  survives  for 
the  melodist, 
When  eternity  affirms  the  conception  of  an  hour. 

The  high  that  prov'd  too  high,  the  heroic  for  earth 
too  hard, 
The  passion  that  left  the  ground  to  lose  itself  in 
the  sky, 
Are  music  sent  up  to  God  by  the  lover  and  the  bard; 
Enough  that  he  heard  it  once:    we  shall  hear  it 
by  and  by. 

Robert  Browning 


246  August  31 

RETIREMENT 

J/  RESH  fields  and  woods!   the  Earth's  fair  face! 

God's  footstool!    and  man's  dwelling-place! 

I  ask  not  why  the  first  believer 

Did  love  to  be  a  country  liver? 

Who  to  secure  pious  content 

Did  pitch  by  groves  and  wells  his  tent; 

Where  he  might  view  his  boundless  sky, 

And  all  those  glorious  lights  on  high: 

With  flying  meteors,  mists,  and  showers: 

Subjected  hills,  trees,  meads,  and  flowers: 

And  every  minute  bless  the  King 

And  wise  Creator  of  each  thing. 

I  ask  not  why  he  did  remove 
To  happy  Mamre's  holy  grove, 
Leaving  the  cities  of  the  plain 
To  Lot  and  his  successless  train? 
All  various  lusts  in  cities  still 
Are  found;   they  are  the  thrones  of  ill; 
The  dismal  sinks,  where  blood  is  spill'd, 
Cages  with  much  uncleanness  fill'd: 
But  rural  shades  are  the  sweet  sense 
Of  piety  and  innocence; 
They  are  the  meek's  calm  region,  where 
Angels  descend,  and  rule  the  sphere; 
Where  Heaven  lies  Ieiguer,1  and  the  Dove 
Duly  as  dew  comes  from  above. 
If  Eden  be  on  Earth  at  all, 
'Tis  that  which  we  the  country  call. 

1  At  rest.  Henry  Vaughan 


September   1  247 


MY  GARDEN 

£jl  GARDEN  is  a  Iovesome  thing,  God  wot! 

Rose  plot, 

Fringed  pool, 
Fern'd  grot  — 

The  veriest  school 

Of  peace;  and  yet  the  fool 
Contends  that  God  is  not  — 
Not  God!    in  gardens!    when  the  eve  is  cool? 

Nay,  but  I  have  a  sign; 

'Tis  very  sure  God  walks  in  mine. 

Thomas  Edward  Brown 


248  September   2 


THE   FATHER'S  VOICE 

ilLL  are  not  taken!    there  are  left  behind 

Living  Beloveds,  tender  looks  to  bring, 

And  make  the  daylight  still  a  happy  thing, 

And  tender  voices  to  make  soft  the  wind. 

But  if  it  were  not  so  —  if  I  could  find 

No  love  in  all  the  world  for  comforting, 

Nor  any  path  but  hollowly  did  ring, 

Where  "dust  to  dust"  the  love  from  life  disjoined  - 

And  if  before  these  sepulchres  unmoving 

I  stood  alone,  (as  some  forsaken  Iamb 

Goes  bleating  up  the  moors  in  weary  dearth) 

Crying  "Where  are  ye,  O  my  loved  and  loving?" 

I  know  a  voice  would  sound,  "Daughter,  I  am. 

Can  I  suffice  for  Heaven,  and  not  for  earth?" 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


September   3  249 


O 


THE  CALM   DIVINE 

FROM    "HYMN    OF    A    HERMIT ' 


UNSEEN  Spirit!    now  a  calm  divine 
Comes  forth  from  Thee,  rejoicing  earth  and  air! 
Trees,  hills,  and  houses,  all  distinctly  shine, 
And  Thy  great  ocean  slumbers  everywhere. 

The  mountain  ridge  against  the  purple  sky 

Stands  clear  and  strong  with  darkened  rocks  and 
dells, 

And  cloudless  brightness  opens  wide  on  high 
A  home  aerial,  where  Thy  presence  dwells. 

Prepare,  O  Truth  Supreme!  through  shame  and  pain, 
A  heart  attuned  to  Thy  celestial  calm; 

Let  not  reflection's  pangs  be  roused  in  vain, 

But  heal  the  wounded  breast  with  searching  balm. 

So,  firm  in  steadfast  hope,  in  thought  secure, 
In  full  accord  to  all  Thy  world  of  joy, 

May  I  be  nerved  to  labors  high  and  pure, 

And  Thou  Thy  child  to  do  Thy  work  employ. 

In  one,  who  walked  on  earth  a  man  of  woe, 
Was  holier  peace  than  even  this  hour  inspires; 

From  him  to  me  let  inward  quiet  flow, 

And  give  the  might  my  failing  will  requires. 

So  this  great  All  around,  so  he,  and  Thou, 

The  central  source  and  awful  bound  of  things, 

May  fill  my  heart  with  rest  as  deep  as  now 
To  land,  and  sea,  and  air,  Thy  presence  brings. 

John  Sterling 


250  September   4 


THE   BROOK'S   REPLY 

FROM    "THE    BROOK" 


I 


COME  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 
I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 
To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses; 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


September   5  251 


LIGHT  ON  THE  CLOUD 

A.  HERE'S  never  an  always  cloudless  sky, 
There's  never  a  vale  so  fair, 
But  over  it  sometimes  shadows  lie 
In  a  chill  and  songless  air. 

But  never  a  cloud  o'erhung  the  day, 

And  flung  its  shadows  down, 
But  on  its  heaven-side  gleamed  some  ray 

Forming  a  sunshine  crown. 

It  is  dark  on  only  the  downward  side; 

Though  rage  the  tempest  loud, 
And  scatter  its  terrors  far  and  wide, 

There's  light  upon  the  cloud. 

And  often,  when  it  traileth  low, 

Shutting  the  landscape  out, 
And  only  the  chilly  east-winds  blow 

From  the  foggy  seas  of  doubt, 

There'll  come  a  time,  near  the  setting  sun, 

When  the  joys  of  life  seem  few, 
A  rift  will  break  in  the  evening  dim, 

And  the  golden  light  stream  through. 

And  the  soul  a  glorious  bridge  will  make 

Out  of  the  golden  bars, 
And  all  its  priceless  treasures  take 

Where  shine  the  eternal  stars. 

Minot  Judson  Savage 


252  Sept  c  m  b  c  r   6 


THE   EVER  TRUE 


N. 


OT  seldom,  clad  in  radiant  vest, 
Deceitfully  goes  forth  the  Morn; 
Not  seldom  Evening  in  the  west 
Sinks  smilingly  forsworn. 

The  smoothest  seas  will  sometimes  prove 
To  the  confiding  Bark,  untrue; 
And  if  she  trust  the  stars  above, 
They  can  be  treacherous  too.   . 

But  Thou  art  true,  incarnate  Lord, 
Who  didst  vouchsafe  for  man  to  die; 
Thy  smile  is  sure,  Thy  plighted  word 
No  change  can  falsify! 

I  bent  before  Thy  gracious  throne, 
And  ask'd  for  peace  on  suppliant  knee; 
And  peace  was  given,  —  nor  peace  alone, 
But  Faith  sublimed  to  ecstasy! 

William  Wordsworth 


September   7  253 

LOVE'S  SURE   HOLD 

A.  WIXT  gleams  of  joy  and  clouds  of  doubt 
Our  feelings  come  and  go; 
Our  best  estate  is  toss'd  about 
In  ceaseless  ebb  and  flow. 

No  mood  of  feeling,  form  of  thought, 

Is  constant  for  a  day; 
But  Thou,  O  Lord!   Thou  changest  not; 

The  same  Thou  art  alway. 

I  grasp  Thy  strength,  make  it  mine  own, 

My  heart  with  peace  is  blest; 
I  lose  my  hold,  and  then  come  down 

Darkness  and  cold  unrest. 

Let  me  no  more  my  comfort  draw 

From  my  frail  hold  of  Thee,  — 
In  this  alone  rejoice  with  awe; 

Thy  mighty  grasp  of  me. 

Thy  purpose  of  eternal  good 

Let  me  but  surely  know; 
On  this  I'll  lean,  let  changing  mood 

And  feeling  come  or  go; 

Glad  when  Thy  sunshine  fills  my  soul; 

Not  lorn  when  clouds  o'ercast; 
Since  Thou  within  Thy  sure  control 

Of  Love  dost  hold  me  fast. 

John  Campbell  Shairp 


254  September   8 


THE  HAPPY   LIFE 


fi 


.OW  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another's  will; 
Whose  armor  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill! 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are; 

Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death, 
Not  tied  unto  the  world  with  care 

Of  public  fame  or  private  breath; 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise, 
Or  vice;    who  never  understood 

How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise, 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good; 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumors  freed; 

Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat; 
W^hose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 

Nor  ruin  make  accusers  great; 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 
More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend, 

And  entertains  the  harmless  day 

With  a  well-chosen  book  or  friend,  — 

This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall; 

Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands; 
And,  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sir  Henry  Wotton 


September   9  255 


SWEET  CONTENT 

FROM    "PATIENT    GRISSELl" 

JlxRT  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden  slumbers? 

O  sweet  content! 
Art  thou  rich,  yet  is  thy  mind  perplex'd? 

O  punishment! 
Dost  thou  laugh  to  see  how  fools  are  vex'd 
To  add  to  golden  numbers  golden  numbers? 

O  sweet  content!     O  sweet,  O  sweet  content! 
Work  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace; 
Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face; 
Then  hey  nonny  nonny  —  hey  nonny  nonny! 

Canst  drink  the  waters  of  the  crisped  spring? 

O  sweet  content! 
Swim'st  thou  in  wealth,   yet  sink'st  in  thine  own 
tears? 

O  punishment! 
Then  he  that  patiently  want's  burden  bears, 
No  burden  bears,  but  is  a  king,  a  king! 

O  sweet  content!     O  sweet,  O  sweet  content! 
Work  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace; 
Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face; 
Then  hey  nonny  nonny  —  hey  nonny  nonny! 

Thomas  Dekker 


256  September   10 


MOTHER-SONG 

)M  "prince  llcifer' 


W> 


HITE  little  hands! 

Pink  little  feet! 
Dimpled  all  over, 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet! 
What  dost  thou  wail  for? 

The  unknown?'the  unseen? 
The  ills  that  are  coming, 

The  joys  that  have  been? 

Cling  to  me  closer, 

Closer  and  closer, 
Till  the  pain  that  is  purer 

Hath  banish'd  the  grosser. 
Drain,  drain  at  the  stream,  love, 

Thy  hunger  is  freeing, 
That  was  born  in  a  dream,  love, 

Along  with  thy  being! 

Little  fingers  that  feel 

For  their  home  on  my  breast, 
Little  lips  that  appeal 

For  their  nurture,  their  rest! 
Why,  why  dost  thou  weep,  dear? 

Nay,  stifle  thy  cries, 
Till  the  dew  of  thy  sleep,  dear, 

Lies  soft  on  thine  eyes. 


Alfred  Austin 


September   11  257 


THE   BABIE 


N, 


AE  shoon  to  hide  her  tiny  taes, 
Nae  stockin'  on  her  feet; 
Her  supple  ankles  white  as  snaw, 
Or  early  blossoms  sweet. 


Her  simple  dress  o'  sprinkled  pink, 

Her  double,  dimplit  chin, 
Her  puckered  lips  an'  baumy  mou', 

With  na  ane  tooth  within. 

Her  een  sae  like  her  mither's  een, 

Twa  gentle,  liquid  things; 
Her  face  is  like  an  angel's  face, 

We're  glad  she  has  nae  wings. 

She  is  the  buddin'  o'  our  Iuve, 

A  giftie  God  gied  us: 
We  maun  na  Iuve  the  gift  owre  weel, 

'Twad  be  nae  blessing  thus. 

We  still  maun  Io'e  the  Giver  mair, 

An'  see  Him  in  the  given; 
An'  sae  she'll  lead  us  up  to  Him, 

Our  babie  straight  frae  Heaven. 

Jeremiah  Eames  Rankin 


258  September   12 


THINGS  CELESTIAL 

JL  O  music  bent  is  my  retired  mind, 
And  fain  would  I  some  song  of  pleasure  sing; 
But  in  vain  joys  no  comfort  now  I  find; 
From  heavenly  thoughts  all  true  delight  doth  spring: 
Thy  power,  O  God,  Thy  mercies  to  record, 
Will  sweeten  every  note  and  every  word. 

All  earthly  pomp  or  beauty  to  express 
Is  but  to  carve  in  snow,  on  waves  to  write; 
Celestial  things,  though  men  conceive  them  less, 
Yet  fullest  are  they  in  themselves  of  light: 
Such  beams  they  yield  as  know  no  means  to  die; 
Such  heat  they  cast  as  lifts  the  spirit  high. 

Thomas  Campion 


September   13  259 


GOD'S  GRACE 

M,  O  keep  the  lamp  alive, 
With  oil  we  fill  the  bowl; 
'Tis  water  makes  the  willow  thrive, 
And  grace  that  feeds  the  soul. 

The  Lord's  unsparing  hand 

Supplies  the  living  stream; 

It  is  not  at  our  own  command, 

But  still  derived  from  Him. 

Beware  of  Peter's  word, 
Nor  confidently  say, 
"I  never  will  deny  Thee,  Lord,"  — 
But,  —  "Grant  I  never  may." 

Man's  wisdom  is  to  seek 
His  strength  in  God  alone; 
And  e'en  an  Angel  would  be  weak 
Who  trusted  in  his  own. 

William  Cowper 


i6o  September    14 

HALLOWED   GROUND 


w, 


HAT'S  hallowed  ground?     Has  earth  a  clod 
Its  Maker  meant  not  should  be  trod 
By  man,  the  image  of  his  God, 

Erect  and  free, 
Unscourged  by  Superstition's  rod 

To  bow  the  knee? 

That's  hallowed  ground  where,  mourned  and  missed, 
The  lips  repose  our  love  has  kissed;  — 
But  where's  their  memory's  mansion?     Is't 

Yon  churchyard's  bowers? 
No!    in  ourselves  their  souls  exist, 

A  part  of  ours. 

But  strew  his  ashes  to  the  wind 

Whose  sword  or  voice  has  served  mankind,  — 

And  is  he  dead,  whose  glorious  mind 

Lifts  thine  on  high?  — 
To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind 

Is  not  to  die. 

What's  hallowed  ground?     'Tis  what  gives  birth 
To  sacred  thoughts  in  souls  of  worth!  — 
Peace!    Independence!    Truth!    go  forth 

Earth's  compass  round; 
And  your  high-priesthood  shall  make  earth 

All  halloxced  ground. 

Thomas  Campbell 


September   15  261 

THE   FALLEN  TOWER 

ode  on  the  death  of  the  duke  of 
Wellington" 


M 


OURN,  for  to  us  he  seems  the  last, 

Remembering  all  his  greatness  in  the  Past. 

No  more  in  soldier  fashion  will  he  greet 

With  lifted  hand  the  gazer  in  the  street. 

O  friends,  our  chief  state-oracle  is  mute: 

Mourn  for  the  man  of  long-enduring  blood, 

The  statesman-warrior,  moderate,  resolute, 

Whole  in  himself,  a  common  good. 

Mourn  for  the  man  of  amplest  influence, 

Yet  clearest  of  ambitious  crime, 

Our  greatest  yet  with  least  pretence, 

Great  in  council  and  great  in  war, 

Foremost  captain  of  his  time, 

Rich  in  saving  common-sense, 

And,  as  the  greatest  only  are, 

In  his  simplicity  sublime. 

O  good  gray  head  which  all  men  knew, 

O  voice  from  which  their  omens  all  men  drew, 

O  iron  nerve  to  true  occasion  true, 

O  falPn  at  length  that  tower  of  strength 

Which  stood  four-square  to  all  the  winds  that  blew! 

Such  was  he  whom  we  deplore. 

The  long  self-sacrifice  of  life  is  o'er. 

The  great  World-victor's  victor  will  be  seen  no  more. 

Died  Sept.  14,  1S62 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


262  September   16 


THE  CURTAIN  OF  THE   DARK 

FROM    "HINTS" 

M.   HE  curtain  of  the  dark 
Is  pierced  by  many  a  rent: 
Out  of  the  star-wells,  spark  on  spark 
Trickles  through  night's  torn  tent. 

Grief  is  a  tattered  tent 

Where  through  God's  light  doth  shine. 
Who  glances  up,  at  every  rent 

Shall  catch  a  ray  divine. 

Lucy  Larcom 


September   17  263 

PRAYER 

X  RAYER  is  the  soul's  sincere  desire, 

Utter'd,  or  unexpress'd; 
The  motion  of  a  hidden  fire 

That  trembles  in  the  breast. 

Prayer  is  the  burden  of  a  sigh, 

The  falling  of  a  tear; 
The  upward  glancing  of  an  eye, 

When  none  but  God  is  near. 

Prayer  is  the  simplest  form  of  speech 

That  infant  lips  can  try; 
Prayer,  the  sublimest  strains  that  reach 

The  Majesty  on  high. 

Prayer  is  the  contrite  sinner's  voice 

Returning  from  his  ways; 
While  Angels  in  their  songs  rejoice, 

And  cry,  Behold,  he  prays! 

Prayer  is  the  Christian's  vital  breath, 

The  Christian's  native  air; 
His  watch- word  at  the  gates  of  death; 

He  enters  Heaven  with  prayer. 

O  Thou,  by  Whom  we  come  to  God, 

The  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way! 
The  path  of  prayer  Thyself  hast  trod: 

Lord!   teach  us  how  to  pray! 

James  Montgomery 


264  September   18 

NATURE 

FROM    "GIVE    ME    THE    SPLENDID    SILENT    SL'\"' 

VJ"IVE  me  the  splendid  silent  sun,  with  all  his 

beams  full-dazzling; 
Give  me  juicy  autumnal  fruit,  ripe  and  red  from  the 

orchard; 
Give  me  a  field  where  the  unmow'd  grass  grows; 
Give  me  an  arbor,  give  me  the  trellis'd  grape; 
Give  me  fresh  corn  and  wheat  —  give  me  serene- 
moving  animals,  teaching  content; 
Give  me  nights  perfectly  quiet,  as  on  high  plateaus 

west  of  the  Mississippi,  and  I  looking  up  at  the 

stars; 
Give  me  odorous  at  sunrise  a  garden  of  beautiful 

flowers  where  I  can  walk  undisturbed; 
Give  me  for  marriage  a  sweet-breath'd  woman  of 

whom  I  should  never  tire; 
Give   me   a   perfect   child  —  give   me,   away,   aside 

from  the  noise  of  the  world,   a  rural  domestic 

life; 
Give    me    to    warble    spontaneous    songs    reliev'd, 

recluse  by  myself,  for  my  own  ears  only; 
Give    me    solitude  —  give    me    Nature  —  gi\e    me 

again,  O  Nature,  your  primal  sanities! 

Walt  Whitman 


•% 
September   19  265 

THE  CITY 

FROM    "GIVE    ME    THE    SPLENDID    SILENT    SUN" 


K 


.EEP  your  splendid  silent  sun; 

Keep  your  woods,  O  Nature,  and  the  quiet  places 
by  the  woods; 

Keep  your  fields  of  clover  and  timothy,  and  your 
cornfields  and  orchards; 

Keep  the  blossoming  buckwheat  fields,  where  the 
Ninth-month  bees  hum; 

Give  me  faces  and  streets!  give  me  these  phantoms 
incessant  and  endless  along  the  trottoirs! 

Give  me  interminable  eyes!  give  me  women!  give 
me  comrades  and  lovers  by  the  thousand! 

Let  me  see  new  ones  every  day!  let  me  hold  new 
ones  by  the  hand  every  day! 

Give  me  such  shows!  give  me  the  streets  of  Man- 
hattan! 

Give  me  Broadway,  with  the  soldiers  marching  — 
give  me  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  and  drums! 

(The  soldiers  in  companies  or  regiments  —  some, 
starting  away,  flush'd  and  reckless; 

Some,  their  time  up,  returning,  with  thinn'd  ranks 
—  young,  yet  very  old,  worn,  marching,  notic- 
ing nothing;) 

—  Give  me  the  shores  and  the  wharves  heavy- 
fringed  with  the  black  ships! 

O  such  for  me!  O  an  intense  life!  O  full  to  repletion, 
and  varied! 

W alt  Whitman 


266  September   20 


SONG 

" JAMES    LEE' 


o, 


H,  good  gigantic  smile  o'  the  brown  old  earth, 
This  autumn  morning!     How  he  sets  his  bones 
To  bask  i'  the  sun,  and  thrusts  out  knees  and  feet 
For  the  ripple  to  run  over  in  its  mirth; 

Listening  the  while,  where  on  the  heap  of  stones 
The  white  breast  of  the  sea-lark  twitters  sweet. 

That  is  the  doctrine,  simple,  ancient,  true; 

Such  is  life's  trial,  as  old  earth  smiles  and  knows. 
If  you  loved  only  what  were  worth  your  love, 
Love  were  clear  gain,  and  wholly  well  for  you: 

Make  the  low  nature  better  by  your  throes! 
Give  earth  yourself,  go  up  for  gain  above! 

Robert  Browning 


September   21  267 


IN  A  SEPTEMBER   NIGHT 

X   HERE  the  moon  leans  out  and  blesses 
All  the  dreamy  hills  below: 
Here  the  willows  wash  their  tresses 
Where  the  water-lilies  blow 
In  the  stream  that  glideth  slow. 

High  in  heaven,  in  serried  ranges, 

Cloud-wreaths  float  through  pallid  light, 

Like  a  flock  of  swans  that  changes 
In  the  middle  Autumn  night 
North  for  South  in  ordered  flight. 

What  know  ye,  who  hover  yonder, 
More  than  I,  of  that  veiled  good 

Whither  all  things  tend,  I  wonder, 
That  ye  follow  the  wind's  mood 
In  such  patient  quietude? 

F.  Wyville  Home 


268  September  2  2 


AT  SEA 


w< 


ORN  voyagers,  who  watch  for  land 
Across  the  endless  wastes  of  sea, 
Who  gaze  before  and  on  each  hand, 
Why  look  ye  not  to  what  ye  flee? 

The  stars  by  which  the  sailors  steer 
Not  always  rise  before  the  prow; 

Though  forward  nought  but  clouds  appear, 
Behind,  they  may  be  breaking  now. 

What  though  we  may  not  turn  again 
To  shores  of  childhood  that  we  leave, 

Are  those  old  signs  we  followed  vain? 
Can  guides  so  oft  found  true  deceive? 

Oh,  sail  we  to  the  south  or  north, 

Oh,  sail  we  to  the  east  or  west, 
The  port  from  which  we  first  put  forth 

Is  our  heart's  home,  is  our  life's  best. 

Francis  William  Bourdillon 


September   2  3  269 

ROCKED  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF 
THE  DEEP 


R< 


.OCKED  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep 
I  lay  me  down  in  peace  to  sleep; 
Secure  I  rest  upon  the  wave, 
For  thou,  O  Lord!    hast  power  to  save. 
I  know  Thou  wilt  not  slight  my  call, 
For  Thou  dost  mark  the  sparrow's  fall; 
And  calm  and  peaceful  shall  I  sleep, 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep. 

When  in  the  dead  of  night  I  lie 
And  gaze  upon  the  trackless  sky, 
The  star-bespangled  heavenly  scroll, 
The  boundless  waters  as  they  roll,  — 
I  feel  thy  wondrous  power  to  save 
From  perils  of  the  stormy  wave: 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep, 
I  calmly  rest  and  soundly  sleep. 

And  such  the  trust  that  still  were  mine, 
Though  stormy  winds  swept  o'er  the  brine, 
Or  though  the  tempest's  fiery  breath 
Roused  me  from  sleep  to  wreck  and  death. 
In  ocean  cave,  still  safe  with  Thee 
The  germ  of  immortality! 
And  calm  and  peaceful  shall  I  sleep, 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep. 

Emma  Hart  Willard 


270  September   2  4 


THROUGH   LIFE 


W. 


E  slight  the  gifts  that  every  season  bears, 
And  let  them  fall  unheeded  from  our  grasp, 
In  our  great  eagerness  to  reach  and  clasp 
The  promised  treasure  of  the  coming  years; 

Or  else  we  mourn  some  great  good  passed  away, 
And,  in  the  shadow  of  our  grief  shut  in, 
Refuse  the  lesser  good  we  yet  might  win, 

The  offered  peace  and  gladness  of  to-day. 

So  through  the  chambers  of  our  life  we  pass, 
And  leave  them  one  by  one  and  never  stay, 

Not  knowing  how  much  pleasantness  there  was 

In  each,  until  the  closing  of  the  door 

Has  sounded  through  the  house  and  died  away, 

And  in  our  hearts  we  sigh,  "Forevermore!" 

The  Humbler  Poets 


September   2  5  271 


HUMAN  GREATNESS 

FROM    "AN    ESSAY    ON    MAN* 


H 


ONOR  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise; 
Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honor  lies. 
Fortune  in  men  has  some  small  difference  made, 
One  flaunts  in  rags,  one  flutters  in  brocade; 
The  cobbler  aproned,  and  the  parson  gowned, 
The  friar  hooded,  and  the  monarch  crowned. 
"What  differ  more  (you  cry)  than  crown  and  cowl?" 
I'll  tell  you,  friend;   a  wise  man  and  a  fool. 
You'll  find,  if  once  the  monarch  acts  the  monk, 
Or,  cobbler-like,  the  parson  will  be  drunk, 
Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it  the  fellow, 
The  rest  is  all  but  leather  or  prunella. 

Who  wickedly  is  wise,  or  madly  brave, 
Is  but  the  more  a  fool,  the  more  a  knave. 
Who  noble  ends  by  noble  means  obtains, 
Or,  failing,  smiles  in  exile  or  in  chains, 
Like  good  Aurelius  let  him  reign,  or  bleed 
Like  Socrates,  that  man  is  great  indeed. 

Alexander  Pope 


272  September   2  6 


VAN   ELSEN 


G< 


r0D  spake  three  times  and  saved  Van   Elsen's 
soul; 
He  spake  by  sickness  first  and  made  him  whole; 
Van  Elsen  heard  him  not, 
Or  soon  forgot. 

God  spake  to  him  by  wealth,  the  world  outpoured 
Its  treasures  at  his  feet,  and  called  him  Lord; 

Van  Elsen's  heart  grew  fat 

And  proud  thereat. 

God   spake  the  third   time  when  the  great   world 

smiled, 
And  in  the  sunshine  slew  his  little  child; 

Van  Elsen  like  a  tree 

Fell  hopelessly. 

Then  in  the  darkness  came  a  voice  which  said, 
"As  thy  heart  bleedeth,  so  my  heart  hath  bled, 

As  I  have  need  of  thee, 

Thou  needest  me." 

That  night  Van  Elsen  kissed  the  baby  feet, 
And,  kneeling  by  the  narrow  winding  sheet, 

Praised  Him  with  fervent  breath 

Who  conquered  death. 

Frederick  George  Scott 


September   2  7  273 


THE   WAY,   THE  TRUTH,   AND  THE   LIFE 


o 


THOU  great  Friend  to  all  the  sons  of  men, 
Who  once  appeared  in  humblest  guise  below, 
Sin  to  rebuke,  to  break  the  captive's  chain, 

And  call  thy  brethren  forth  from  want  and  woe,  — ■ 

We  look  to  thee!    thy  truth  is  still  the  Light 
Which  guides  the  nations,  groping  on  their  way, 

Stumbling  and  falling  in  disastrous  night, 
Yet  hoping  ever  for  the  perfect  day. 

Yes;   thou  art  still  the  Life,  thou  art  the  Way 

The  holiest  know;  Light,  Life,  the  Way  of  heaven! 
And  they  who  dearest  hope  and  deepest  pray, 

Toil  by  the  Light,  Life,  Way,  which  thou   hast 
given. 

Theodore  Parker 


274  September   28 

CONFIDO   ET  CONQUIESCO 

J7  RET  not,  poor  soul:    while  doubt  and  fear 

Disturb  thy  breast, 
The  pitying  angels,  who  can  see 
How  vain  thy  wild  regret  must  be, 

Say,  Trust  and  Rest. 

Plan  not,  nor  scheme,  —  but  calmly  wait; 

His  choice  is  best. 
While  blind  and  errir.g  is  thy  sight, 
His  wisdom  sees  and  judges  right, 

So  Trust  and  Rest. 

Strive  not,  nor  struggle:   thy  poor  might 

Can  never  wrest 
The  meanest  thing  to  serve  thy  will; 
All  power  is  His  alone:   Be  still, 

And  Trust  and  Rest. 

Desire  not:    self-love  is  strong 

Within  thy  breast; 
And  yet  He  loves  thee  better  still, 
So  let  Him  do  His  loving  will, 

And  Trust  and  Rest. 

What  dost  thou  fear?     His  wisdom. reigns 

Supreme  confessed; 
His  power  is  infinite;    His  love 
Thy  deepest,  fondest  dreams  above;  — 

So  Trust  and  Rest. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


September   2  9  275 


FAIRY  SONG 

1OH ED  no  tear!   O,  shed  no  tear! 

The  flower  will  bloom  another  year. 

Weep  no  more!     O,  weep  no  more! 

Young  buds  sleep  in  the  root's  white  core. 

Dry  your  eyes!     O,  dry  your  eyes! 

For  I  was  taught  in  Paradise 

To  ease  my  brerst  of  melodies,  — 

Shed  no  tear. 

Overhead!    look  overhead! 
'Mong  the  blossoms  white  and  red,  — 
Look  up,  look  up!    I  flutter  now 
On  this  fresh  pomegranate  bough. 
See  me!    'tis  this  silvery  bill 
Ever  cures  the  good  man's  ill, 
Shed  no  tear!   O,  shed  no  tear! 
The  flower  will  bloom  another  year. 
Adieu,  adieu  —  I  fly  —  adieu! 
I  vanish  in  the  heaven's  blue,  — 

Adieu,  adieu! 

John  Keats 


276  September   SO 


TO  THINE  OWN   SELF  BE  TRUE 


B 


Y  thine  own  soul's  law  learn  to  live, 
And  if  men  thwart  thee  take  no  heed, 
And  if  men  hate  thee  have  no  care; 
Sing  thou  thy  song  and  do  thy  deed, 
Hope  thou  thy  hope  and  pray  thy  prayer, 
And  claim  no  crown  they  will  not  give, 
Nor  bays  they  grudge  thee  for  thy  hair. 

Keep  thou  thy  soul-sworn  steadfast  oath, 
And  to  thy  heart  be  true  thy  heart; 
What  thy  soul  teaches  learn  to  know, 
And  play  out  thine  appointed  part; 
And  thou  shalt  reap  as  thou  shalt  sow, 
Nor  helped  nor  hindered  in  thy  growth, 
To  thy  full  stature  thou  shalt  grow. 

Fix  on  the  future's  goal  thy  face, 

And  let  thy  feet  be  lured  to  stray 

Nowhither,  but  be  swift  to  run, 

And  nowhere  tarry  by  the  way, 

Until  at  last  the  end  is  won, 

And  thou  mayst  look  back  from  thy  place 

And  see  thy  long  day's  journey  done. 

Pakenham  Beatty 


October   1  277 


THE   EVENING  CLOUD 

jL\.  CLOUD  lay  cradled  near  the  setting  sun, 
A  gleam  of  crimson  tinged  its  braided  snow: 
Long  had  I  watched  the  glory  moving  on 
O'er  the  still  radiance  of  the  lake  below. 
Tranquil  its  spirit  seemed,  and  floated  slow! 
Even  in  its  very  motion  there  was  rest; 
While  every  breath  of  eve  that  chanced  to  blow 
Wafted  the  traveller  to  the  beauteous  west. 
Emblem,  methought,  of  the  departed  soul, 
To  whose  white  robe  the  gleam  of  bliss  is  given; 
And  by  the  breath  of  mercy  made  to  roll 
Right  onwards  to  the  golden  gates  of  heaven, 
Where  to  the  eye  of  faith  it  peaceful  lies, 
And  tells  to  man  his  glorious  destinies. 

John  Wilson  {Christopher  North) 


2-8  October  2 


HARVEST-HOURS 


H, 


OW  peacefully  the  broad  and  golden  moon 
Comes  up  to  gaze  upon  the  reaper's  toil! 
That  they  who  own  the  land  for  many  a  mile, 
May  bless  her  beams,  and  they  who  take  the  boon 
Of  scatter'd  ears;   Oh!    beautiful!    how  soon 
The  dusk  is  turn'd  to  silver  without  soil, 
Which  makes  the  fair  sheaves  fairer  than  at  noon, 
And  guides  the  gleaner  to  his  slender  spoil; 
So,  to  our  souls,  the  Lord  of  love  and  might 
Sends  harvest-hours,  when  daylight  disappears; 
When  age  and  sorrow,  like  a  coming  night, 
Darken  our  field  of  work  with  doubts  and  fears, 
He  times  the  presence  of  His  heavenly  light 
To  rise  up  softly  o'er  our  silver  hairs. 

Charles  Tennyson  Turner 


October   3  279 

PICTURES  OF  OUR  PAST 


W. 


E  shape  ourselves  the  joy  or  fear 
Of  which  the  coming  life  is  made, 
And  fill  our  Future's  atmosphere 
With  sunshine  or  with  shade. 

The  tissue  of  the  Life  to  be 

We  weave  with  colors  all  our  own, 

And  in  the  field  of  Destiny 
We  reap  as  we  have  sown. 

Still  shall  the  soul  around  it  call 

The  shadows  which  it  gathered  here, 

And  painted  on  the  eternal  wall 
The  Past  shall  reappear. 

Think  ye  the  notes  of  holy  song 
Or  Milton's  tuneful  ear  have  died? 

Think  ye  that  Raphael's  angel  throng 
Has  vanished  from  his  side? 

Oh  no!  —  We  live  our  life  again: 
Or  warmly  touched  or  coldly  dim 

The  pictures  of  the  Past  remain,  — 
Man's  works  shall  follow  him! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


280  October   4 


AFFLICTIONS 

V^iOUNT  each  affliction,  whether  light  or  grave, 
God's  messenger  sent  down  to  thee;   do  thou 
With  courtesy  receive  him;   rise  and  bow; 
And,  ere  his  shadow  pass  thy  threshold,  crave 
Permission  first  his  heavenly  feet  to  lave; 
Then  lay  before  him  all  thou  hast.     Allow 
No  cloud  of  passion  to  usurp  thy  brow, 
Or  mar  thy  hospitality;    no  wave 
Of  mortal  tumult  to  obliterate 
The  soul's  marmoreal  calmness.     Grief  should  be 
Like  joy,  majestic,  equable,  sedate, 
Confirming,  cleansing,  raising,  making  free; 
Strong  to  consume  small  troubles;   to  commend 
Great  thoughts,   grave  thoughts,   thoughts  lasting 
to  the  end. 

Aubrey  Thomas  De  Vere 


October   5  281 


HYMN   TO  THE  CITY 


N, 


OT  in  the  solitude 
Alone  may  man  commune  with  Heaven,  or  see 

Only  in  savage  wood 
And  sunny  vale,  the  present  Deity; 

Or  only  hear  His  voice 
Where  the  winds  whisper  and  the  waves  rejoice. 

Even  here  do  I  behold 
Thy  steps,  Almighty!  —  here,  amidst  the  crowd, 

Through  the  great  city  rolled, 
With  everlasting  murmur  deep  and  loud  — 

Choking  the  ways  that  wind 
'Mongst  the  proud  piles,  the  work  of  human  kind. 

Thy  Spirit  is  around, 
Quickening  the  restless  mass  that  sweeps  along; 

And  this  eternal  sound  — 
Voices  and  footfalls  of  the  numberless  throng  — 

Like  the  resounding  sea, 
Or  like  the  rainy  tempest,  speaks  of  Thee. 

And  when  the  hours  of  rest 
Come,  like  a  calm  upon  the  mid-sea  brine, 

Hushing  its  billowy  breast  — 
The  quiet  of  that  moment  too  is  Thine; 

It  breathes  of  Him  who  keeps 
The  vast  and  helpless  city  while  it  sleeps. 

William  Cullen  Bryant 


282  October    6 

MY   MINDE  TO   ME   A   KINGDOM    IS 


M 


Y  minde  to  me  a  kingdom  is; 

Such  perfect  joy  therein  I  fmde 
As  farre  exceeds  all  earthly  blisse 

That  God  or  nature  hath  assignde; 
Though  much  I  want  that  most  would  have, 
Yet  still  my  minde  forbids  to  crave. 

Content  I  live;   this  is  my  stay,  — 
I  seek  no  more  than  may  suffice. 

I  presse  to  beare  no  haughtie  sway; 
Look,  what  I  lack  my  mind  supplies. 

Loe,  thus  I  triumph  like  a  king, 

Content  with  that  my  mind  doth  bring. 

Some  have  too  much,  yet  still  they  crave; 

I  little  have,  yet  seek  no  more. 
They  are  but  poore,  though  much  they  have, 

And  I  am  rich  with  little  store. 
They  poor,  I  rich;   they  beg,  I  give; 
They  Iacke,  I  lend;   they  pine,  I  live. 

The  court  ne  cart  I  like  ne  loath,  — 
Extreames  are  counted  worst  of  all; 

The  golden  meane  betwixt  them  both 
Doth  surest  sit,  and  feares  no  fall; 

This  is  my  choyce;    for  why,  I  fmde 

No  wealth  is  like  a  quiet  minde. 

Sir  Edward  Dyer 


October   7  283 


FLOWERS  WITHOUT  FRUIT 

JL   RUNE  thou  thy  words,  the  thoughts  control 

That  o'er  thee  swell  and  throng; 
They  will  condense  within  thy  soul, 

And  change  to  purpose  strong. 

But  he  who  lets  his  feelings  run 

In  soft  luxurious  flow, 
Shrinks  when  hard  service  must  be  done, 

And  faints  at  every  woe. 

Faith's  meanest  deed  more  favour  bears, 
Where  hearts  and  wills  are  weigh'd, 

Than  brightest  transports,  choicest  prayers, 
Which  bloom  their  hour  and  fade. 

John  Henry  Newman 


284  OctoberS 


ENRICHING   LOVE 
from  " evangeline" 

.ZjLND  thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and  father- 
confessor, 

Said,  with  a  smile,  —  "O  daughter!    thy  God  thus 
speaketh  within  thee! 

Talk  not  of  wasted  affection,   affection  never  was 
wasted; 

If  it  enrich  not  the  heart  of  another,  its  waters,  re- 
turning 

Back  to  their  springs,  like  the  rain,  shall  fill  them 
full  of  refreshment; 

That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns  again 
to  the  fountain. 

Patience;     accomplish   thy  labor;     accomplish   thy 
work  of  affection ! 

Sorrow  and  silence  are  strong,  and  patient  endur- 
ance is  godlike. 

Therefore  accomplish  thy  labor  of  love,  till  the  heart 
is  made  godlike, 

Purified,  strengthened,  perfected,  and  rendered  more 
worthy  of  heaven!" 

Cheered    by    the    good    man's    words,    Evangeline 
labored  and  waited. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 


October  9  285 


'TIS   BUT  A   LITTLE   FADED   FLOWER 


T 


IS  but  a  little  faded  flower, 

But  oh,  how  fondly  dear! 
'Twill  bring  me  back  one  golden  hour, 

Through  many  a  weary  year. 
I  may  not  to  the  world  impart 

The  secret  of  its  power, 
But  treasured  in  my  inmost  heart, 

I  keep  my  faded  flower. 

Where  is  the  heart  that  doth  not  keep, 

Within  its  inmost  core, 
Some  fond  remembrance,  hidden  deep, 

Of  days  that  are  no  more? 
Who  hath  not  saved  some  trifling  thing 

More  prized  than  jewels  rare  — 
A  faded  flower,  a  broken  ring, 

A  tress  of  golden  hair? 

Ellen  Clementine  Howarth 


286  October  10 


IN   MANY   PARTS 


G. 


OD  of  the  Dew, 
In  gentlest  minstrelsy,  — 
As  silently 
Would  I  some  soul  refresh  anew. 

God  of  the  Sun, 

*    Far  flaming  heat  and  light,  — 

Be  my  delight 
On  radiant  errands  swift  to  run. 

God  of  the  Star, 

To  its  stern  orbit  true,  — 

My  soul  imbue 
With  dread,  lest  I  thy  order  mar. 

God  of  the  Sea, 

Majestic,  vast,  profound,  — 

Enlarge  my  bound, 
Broader  and  deeper  may  I  be. 

Maltbie  Davenport  Babcock 


October   11  287 

A   PSALM  OF   PRAISE 


I 


PRAISE  God  that  he  gave  man  breath 
To  breathe  the  mountains  and  the  seas; 
I  praise  Him  that  He  sends  us  death 
To  give  us  solitude  and  ease. 

I  praise  God  that  He  gave  man  sight 

And  knowledge  of  the  lakes  and  streams; 

I  praise  Him  that  He  sends  us  night 
And  blinding  mystery  of  dreams. 

I  praise  God  that  He  gave  man  speech 

And  thoughts  that  lap  the  world  with  fire; 

I  praise  Him  that  He  orders  each 
To  set  a  bound  to  his  desire. 

I  praise  God  that  He  gave  man  love, 
And  faith,  and  truth,  and  simple  joys; 

I  praise  Him  that  the  stars  above 
Are  not  subservient  to  our  noise. 

I  praise  God  that  He  built  man's  brain 

Wide  open  to  the  sense's  thrill; 
I  praise  Him  that  He  sends  us  pain 

To  break  the  thraldom  of  the  will. 

I  praise  God  for  the  darts  that  sting, 
The  age-long  toil,  the  ceaseless  strife; 

I  praise  God  that  He  made  man  king 
To  choose  in  freedom  death  or  life. 

Frederick  George  Scott 


288 


October   12 


AUTUMN  JEWELS 

FROM    "THE    BOTHIE    OF    TOBER-NA    VUOLICH 


I 


.T  was  on  Saturday  eve,  in  the  gorgeous  bright 

October, 
Then    when    brackens    are   changed,    and    heather- 
blooms  are  faded, 
And  amid  russet  of  heather  and  fern  green  trees  are 

bonnie; 
Alders  are  green  and  oaks;    the  rowan  scarlet  and 

yellow; 
One  great  glory  of  broad  gold  pieces  appears  the 

aspen, 
And  the  jewels  of  gold  that  were  hung  in  the  hair 

of  the  birch-tree, 
Pendulous,   here  and  there,  her  coronet,   necklace, 

and  ear-rings, 
Cover  her  now  o'er    and    o'er;    she  is  weary  and 

scatters  them  from  her. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 


October   IS  289 


BEAUTY'S  SADNESS 


A) 


.LL  beautiful  things  bring  sadness,  nor  alone 
Music,  w  hereof  that  wisest  poet  spake; 
Because  in  us  keen  longings  they  awake 
After  the  good  for  which  we  pine  and  groan, 
From  which  exil'd  we  make  continual  moan, 
Till  once  again  we  may  our  spirits  slake 
At  those  clear  streams,  which  man  did  first  forsake, 
When  he  would  dig  for  fountains  of  his  own. 
All  beauty  makes  us  sad,  yet  not  in  vain: 
For  who  would  be  ungracious  to  refuse, 
Or  not  to  use,  this  sadness  without  pain, 
Whether  it  flows  upon  us  from  the  hues 
Of  sunset,  from  the  time  of  stars  and  dews, 
From  the  clear  sky,  or  waters  pure  of  stain? 

Richard  Chevenix  Trench 


290  October   14 

TIMES   GO   BY   TURNS 

A.    HE  lopped  tree  in  time  may  grow  again, 
Most  naked  plants  renew  both  fruit  and  flower; 
The  sorest  wight  may  find  release  of  pain, 
The  driest  soil  suck  in  some  moist'ning  shower; 
Times  go  by  turns  and  chances  change  by  course, 
From  foul  to  fair,  from  better  hap  to  worse. 

The  sea  of  Fortune  doth  not  ever  flow, 
She  draws  her  favours  to  the  lowest  ebb; 
Her  time  hath  equal  times  to  come  and  go, 
Her  loom  doth  weave  the  fine  and  coarsest  web; 
No  joy  so  great  but  runneth  to  an  end, 
No  hap  so  hard  but  may  in  fine  amend. 

Not  always  fall  of  leaf  nor  ever  spring, 
No  endless  night  yet  not  eternal  day; 
The  saddest  birds  a  season  find  to  sing, 
The  roughest  storm  a  calm  may  soon  allay: 
Thus  with  succeeding  turns  God  tempereth  all, 
That  man  may  hope  to  rise,  yet  fear  to  fall. 

A  chance  may  win  that  by  mischance  was  lost; 
The  net  that  holds  no  great,  takes  little  fish; 
In  some  things  all,  in  all  things  none  are  crost, 
Few  all  they  need,  but  none  have  all  the}-  wish; 
Unmeddled  joys  here  to  no  man  befall: 
Who  least,  hath  some;    who  most,  hath  never  all. 

Robert  Southwell 


October   15  291 


TAKE  THE   WORLD  AS   IT   IS 

X  AKE  the  world  as  it  is!  —  there  are  good  and 

bad  in  it, 
And  good  and  bad  will  be  from  now  to  the  end; 
And  they,  who  expect  to  make  saints  in  a  minute, 
Are  in  danger  of  marring  more  hearts  than  they'll 
mend. 

If  ye  wish  to  be  happy  ne'er  seek  for  the  faults, 
Or  you're  sure  to  find  something  or  other  amiss; 

'Mid  much  that  debases,  and  much  that  exalts, 
The  world's  not  a  bad  one  if  left  as  it  is. 

Take  the  world  as  it  is!  —  with  its  smiles  and  its 
sorrow, 
Its  love  and  its  friendship,  —  its  falsehood    and 
truth, 
Its  schemes  that  depend  on  the  breath  of  to-morrow 
Its  hopes  which  pass  by  like  the  dreams  of  our 
youth: 
Yet,  oh!  whilst  the  light  of  affection  may  shine, 

The  heart  in  Ltself  hath  a  fountain  of  bliss; 
In  the  worst  there's  some  spark  of  a  nature  divine, 
And  the  wisest  and  best  take  the  world  as  it  is. 

Charles  Swain 


292  October   16 


NIGHT  THOUGHTS 
)M  "the  pains  of  sleep' 


E 


RE  on  my  bed  my  limbs  I  lay, 
It  hath  not  been  my  use  to  pray 
With  moving  lips  or  bended  knees; 
But  silently,  by  slow  degrees, 
My  spirit  I  to  love  compose, 
In  humble  trust  mine  eyelids  close, 
With  reverential  resignation, 
No  wish  conceived,  no  thought  expressed! 
Only  a  sense  of  supplication, 
A  sense  o'er  all  my  soul  imprest 
That  I  am  weak,  yet  not  unblest, 
Since,  in  me,  round  me,  everywhere, 
Eternal  Strength  and  Wisdom  are. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 


October  17  293 


HIS  LOVE  AND  CARE 

FROM    "THE    ETERNAL    GOODNESS ' 


I 


SEE  the  wrong  that  round  me  lies, 
I  feel  the  guilt  within; 
I  hear,  with  groan  and  travail-cries, 
The  world  confess  its  sin. 

Yet,  in  the  maddening  maze  of  things, 
And  tossed  by  storm  and  flood, 

To  one  fixed  tryst  my  spirit  clings; 
I  know  that  God  is  good! 

And  so  beside  the  Siler.t  Sea 

I  wait  the  muffled  oar; 
No  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 

On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

Beyond  His  love  and  care. 

O  brothers!    if  my  faith  is  vain, 

If  hopes  like  these  betray, 
Pray  for  me  that  my  feet  may  gain 

The  sure  and  safer  way. 

And  Thou,  O  Lord!    by  whom  are  seen 

Thy  creatures  as  they  be, 
Forgive  me  if  too  close  I  lean 

My  human  heart  on  Thee! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


294  October   18 


TO  AUTUMN 

Season  **•-.*.««.- 

Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun; 
Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 

With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves 
run; 
To  bend  with  apples  the  moss'd  cottage-trees, 

And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core; 

To  swell  the  gourd,  and  plump  the  hazel  shells 

With  a  sweet  kernel;   to  set  budding  more, 
And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees, 
Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease, 

For  Summer  has  o'er-brimm'd  their  clammy  cells. 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring?   Ay,  where  are  they? 

Think  not  of  them,  thou  hast  thy  music  too,  — 
While  barred  clouds  bloom  the  soft-dying  day, 

And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue; 
Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 

Among  the  river  sallows,  borne  aloft 

Or  sinking  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies; 
And  full-grown  Iambs  loud  bleat  from  hilly  bourn; 

Hedge-crickets  sing;    and  now  with  treble  soft 
The  redbreast  whistles  from  a  garden-croft; 

And  gathering  swallows  twitter  in  the  skies. 

John  Keats 


October   19  295 


MOONLIGHT 

H/TERNE    Apollo!    that  thy  sister  fair 

Is  of  all  these  the  gentlier-mightiest. 

When  thy  gold  breath  is  misting  in  the  west, 

She  unobserved  steals  unto  her  throne, 

And  there  she  sits  most  meek  and  most  alone; 

As  if  she  had  not  pomp  subservient; 

As  if  thine  eye,  high  Poet!    was  not  bent 

Towards  her  with  the  muses  in  thine  heart; 

As  if  the  ministering  stars  kept  not  apart, 

Waiting  for  silver-footed  messages. 

O  Moon!    the  oldest  shades  'mong  oldest  trees 

Feel  palpitations  when  thou  Iookest  in: 

O  Moon!   old  boughs  lisp  forth  a  holier  din 

The  while  they  feel  thine  airy  fellowship. 

Thou  dost  bless  everywhere,  with  silver  lip 

Kissing  dead  things  to  life.     The  sleeping  kine, 

Couched  in  thy  brightness,  dream  of  fields  divine: 

Innumerable  mountains  rise,  and  rise, 

Ambitious  for  the  hallowing  of  thine  eyes; 

And  yet  thy  benediction  passeth  not 

One  obscure  hiding-place,  one  little  spot 

Where  pleasure  may  be  sent.  .  .  . 

John  Keats 


2(j6 


October  20 


A  SONG  OF   LOW   DEGREE 


FROM       THE    GREY    BRETHREN 


L, 


fORD,  I  am  small,  and  yet  so  great, 
The  whole  world  stands  to  my  estate, 
And  in  Thine  Image  I  create. 
The  sea  is  mine;   and  the  broad  sky 
Is  mine  in  its  immensity: 
The  river  and  the  river's  gold; 
The  earth's  hid  treasure  manifold; 
The  love  of  creatures  small  and  great, 
Save  where  I  reap  a  previous  hate; 
The  noon-tide  sun  with  hot  caress, 
The  night  with  quiet  loveliness, 
The  wind  that  bends  the  pliant  trees, 
The  whisper  of  the  summer  breeze; 
The  kiss  of  snow  and  rain;   the  star 
That  shines  a  greeting  from  afar; 
All,  all  are  mine;    and  yet  so  small 
Am  I  that  Io,  I  needs  must  call, 
Great  King,  upon  the  Babe  in  Thee, 
And  crave  that  Thou  would'st  give  to  me 
The  grace  of  Thy  humility. 

Michael  Fairless 


October   21  297 

TO  AN   ENEMY 

ALTHOUGH  I  love  my  friend,  still  let  me  yield 

This  tribute  to  thy  worth,  mine  enemy! 

Unjust  thou  art,  perchance,  no  doubt  unkind, 

Yet  much  I  owe  to  thee,  stern  monitor! 

Faults  though  thou  hast,  due  honor  shall  be  thine. 

Close,  keen-eyed  critic,  oft  thy  scrutiny 

Hath  made  me  blush  defenceless,  and  in  shame 

Turn  from  my  darling  idols.     Thou  hast  set 

Full  oft  in  paths  of  righteousness  my  feet, 

That  else  had  wandered  in  forbidden  ways, 

Lovely  yet  treacherous,  and  thy  censure  harsh 

Hath  oft  rebuked  my  days  of  dalliance 

In  pleasant  fields  where  pitfalls  hid  in  flowers 

Awaited  me  with  secret  perils.     Yea, 

Thy  sneer  hath  been  a  sword  to  prod  me  on 

To  duty;   it  hath  been  a  goading  spur 

To  make  me  win  a  race  I  counted  lost. 

Thy  jeer  hath  oft  aroused  me  till  I  swore 

To  reach  success  despite  thy  prophecies 

Of  my  defeat;   thy  challenge,  like  a  blast 

Of  trumpets  when  the  battle  hangs  in  doubt, 

Hath  nerved  my  hand  to  snatch  the  victor's  wreath 

That  else  had  never  graced  my  brows. 

.  .  .  Stern  friend, 
Not  thine  to  soothe  with  silken  flatteries, 
Nor  gloze  with  unctuous  phrases;   it  is  thine 
To  do  much  more  —  to  save  me  from  myself! 

Walter  Malone 


298  October   22 

PATIENT  ENDURANCE 

FROM    " COLUMBUS " 

Xi/NDURANCE  is  the  crowning  quality, 
And  patience  all  the  passion  of  great  hearts; 
These  are  their  stay,  and  when  the  leaden  world 
Sets  its  hard  face  against  their  fateful  thought, 
And  brute  strength,  like  a  scornful  conqueror, 
Clangs  his  huge  mace  down  in  the  other  scale, 
The  inspired  soul  but  flings  his  patience  in, 
And  slowly  that  outweighs  the  ponderous  globe,  — 
One  faith  against  a  whole  earth's  unbelief, 
One  soul  against  the  flesh  of  all  mankind. 
Thus  ever  seems  it  when  my  soul  can  hear 
The  voice  that  errs  not;  .  .  . 

One  day  more 
These  muttering  shoalbrains  leave  the  helm  to  me. 
God,  let  me  not  in  their  dull  ooze  be  stranded; 
Let  not  this  one  frail  bark,  to  hollow  which 
I  have  dug  out  the  pith  and  sinewy  heart 
Of  my  aspiring  life's  fair  trunk,  be  so 
Cast  up  to  warp  and  blacken  in  the  sun, 
Just  as  the  opposing  wind  'gins  whistle  off 
His  cheek-swollen  mates,  and  from  the  leaning  mast 
Fortune's  full  sail  strains  forward! 

One  poor  day !  — 
Remember  whose  and  not  how  short  it  is! 
It  is  God's  day,  it  is  Columbus's. 
A  lavish  day!     One  day,  with  life  and  heart, 
Is  more  than  time  enough  to  find  a  world.1  " 

James  Russell  Lowell 
1  On  October  22  Columbus  discovered  the  Western  World. 


October   23  299 


ON  HIS  BLINDNESS 


W, 


HEN  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent, 
Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  talent,  which  is  death  to  hide, 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  —  though  my  soul  more 

bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  He,  returning,  chide,  — 
"Doth  God  exact  day-labour,  light  denied?" 
I  fondly  ask:    But  Patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work  or  His  own  gifts:   Who  best 
Bear  His  mild  yoke,  they  serve  Him  best:   His 
state 
Is  Kingly:  Thousands  at  His  bidding  speed, 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest: 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

Milton 


300  October   24 


DIVINE   REFRESHING 


W, 


HEN  first  I  saw  true  beauty,  and  Thy  joys 
Active  as  light,  and  calm  without  all  noise, 
Shined  on  my  soul,  I  felt  through  all  my  powers 
Such  a  rich  air  of  sweets,  as  evening  showers 
Fanned  by  a  gentle  gale  convey,  and  breathe 
On   some  parched  bank,   crowned   with   a  flowery 

wreath; 
Odors,  and  myrrh,  and  balm  in  one  rich  flood, 
O'erran  my  heart,  and  spirited  my  blood; 
My  thoughts  did  swim  in  comforts,  and  mine  eye 
Confessed  the  world  did  only  paint  and  lie. 
And  where  before  I  did  no  safe  course  steer, 
But  wandered  under  tempests  all  the  year; 
Went  bleak  and  bare  in  body  as  in  mind, 
And  was  blown  through  by  every  storm  and  wind, 
I  am  so  warmed  now  by  this  glance  on  me, 
That  midst  all  storms  I  feel  a  ray  of  Thee. 
So  have  I  known  some  beauteous  paysage  rise 
In  sudden  flowers  and  arbors  to  my  eyes, 
And  in  the  depth  and  dead  of  winter  bring 
To  my  cold  thoughts  a  lively  sense  of  spring. 

Thus  fed  by  Thee,  who  dost  all  beings  nourish, 
My  withered  leaves  again  look  green  and  flourish. 

Henry  Vaughan 


October   25  301 


PRAYER 

JL/ORD,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour 
Spent  in  Thy  presence  will  prevail  to  make, 
What  heavy  burdens  from  our  bosoms  take, 
What  parched  grounds  refresh,  as  with  a  shower! 
We  kneel,  and  all  around  us  seems  to  lower; 
We  rise,  and  all,  the  distant  and  the  near, 
Stands  forth  in  sunny  outline,  brave  and  clear; 
We  kneel  how  weak,  we  rise  how  full  of  power. 
Why  therefore  should  we  do  ourselves  this  wrong, 
Or  others  —  that  we  are  not  always  strong, 
That  we  are  ever  overborne  with  care, 
That  we  should  ever  weak  or  heartless  be, 
Anxious  or  troubled,  when  with  us  is  prayer, 
And  joy  and  strength  and  courage  are  with  Thee. 
Richard  Chevenix  Trench 


302  October  26 


EVENING 

A.   IS  gone,  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze, 
Fast  fading  from  our  wistful  gaze; 
Yon  mantling  cloud  has  hid  from  sight 
The  last  faint  pulse  of  quivering  light. 

In  darkness  and  in  weariness 
The  traveller  on  his  way  must  press, 
No  gleam  to  watch  on  tree  or  tower, 
Whiling  away  the  lonesome  hour. 

Sun  of  my  soul!     Thou  Saviour  dear, 
It  is  not  night  if  Thou  be  near: 
Oh!    may  no  earth-born  cloud  arise 
To  hide  Thee  from  Thy  servant's  eyes. 

When  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep, 
Be  my  last  thought,  how  sweet  to  rest 
For  ever  on  my  Saviour's  breast. 

Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  Thee  I  cannot  live: 
Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh, 
For  without  Thee  I  dare  not  die. 

John  Keble 


October   27  303 

LATE  OCTOBER 


H< 


.  OW  peacefully  the  sunlight  fell 

Across  the  woodland's  pleasant  reaches, 
And  like  a  shower  of  gilded  rain 

The  leaves  dropped  from  the  golden  beeches! 
Far  down  the  shadowy  aisles  I  heard 

An  undertone  of  plaintive  sighing, 
As  if  the  waning  Summer  wept 

For  all  her  glories  dead  and  dying. 

The  golden-rod,  with  drooping  plume, 

Had  lost  its  aureole  of  gladness; 
The  starless  mullein  by  the  road 

Dropped  down  its  seeds  like  tears  of  sadness; 
The  far-off  hill,  veiled  like  a  bride, 

Seemed  wedded  to  the  sky  immortal; 
And  through  the  sunset's  golden  gate 

There  flashed  the  gleam  of  heaven's  portal. 

O  peaceful  hour,  O  faith  renewed, 

That  touched  the  fading  earth  with  sweetness, 
And  lifted  up  my  heart  in  thanks 

For  life's  glad  measure  of  completeness! 
Though  dead  leaves  rustle  at  my  feet, 

And  all  the  fields  are  brown  and  sober, 
The  heart  may  blossom  with  new  hope 

Beneath  the  gray  skies  of  October. 

D.  M.  Jordan 


304  October   28 


HOW   DO  WE   KNOW? 


H, 


OW  can  we  tell  who  sinned  more  than  we? 
How  can  we  tell? 
We  think  our  brother  walked  guiltily, 
-Judging  him  in  self-righteousness.     Ah,  well! 
Perhaps  had  we  been  driven  through  the  hell 
Of  his  untold  temptations,  we  might  be 
Less  upright  in  our  daily  walk  than  he  — 
How  can  we  tell? 

Dare  we  condemn  the  ills  that  others  do? 

Dare  we  condemn? 
Their  strength  is  small,  their  trials  not  a  few, 
The  tide  of  wrong  is  difficult  to  stem ; 
And  if  to  us  more  clearly  than  to  them 
Is  given  knowledge  of  the  great  and  true, 
More  do  they  need  our  help  and  pity  too  — 
Dare  we  condemn? 

God  help  us  all,  and  lead  us  day  by  day,  — 

God  help  us  all! 
We  cannot  walk  alone  the  perfect  way. 
Evil  allures  us,  tempts  us,  and  we  fall. 
We  are  but  human,  and  our  power  is  small; 
Not  one  of  us  may  boast,  and  not  a  day 
Rolls  o'er  our  heads  but  each  hath  need  to  say, 

God  help  us  all! 
The  Humbler  Poets 


October   29  305 

JUDGE  NOT 

I  UDGE  not;   the  workings  of  his  brain 

And  of  his  heart  thou  canst  not  see; 
What  looks  to  thy  dim  eyes  a  stain, 

In  God's  pure  light  may  only  be 
A  scar,  brought  from  some  well-won  field, 
Where  thou  wouldst  only  faint  and  yield. 

The  look,  the  air,  that  frets  thy  sight 

May  be  a  token  that  below 
The  soul  has  closed  in  deadly  fight 

With  some  infernal  fiery  foe, 
Whose  glance  would  scorch  thy  smiling  grace, 
And  cast  thee  shuddering  on  thy  face! 

The  fall  thou  darest  to  despise,  — 
May  be  the  angel's  slackened  hand 

Has  suffered  it,  that  he  may  rise 
And  take  a  firmer,  surer  stand; 

Or,  trusting  less  to  earthly  things, 

May  henceforth  learn  to  use  his  wings. 

And  judge  none  lost;   but  wait  and  see, 

With  hopeful  pity,  not  disdain; 
The  depth  of  the  abyss  may  be 

The  measure  of  the  height  of  pain 
And  love  and  glory  that  may  raise 
This  soul  to  God  in  after  days! 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


306 


October   30 

THE  SPIRIT  WORLD 

FROM    "LAODOMIA" 


-    P, 


EACE!"  he  said, — 
She  looked  upon  him  and  was  calmed  and  cheered: 
The  ghastly  colour  from  his  lips  had  fled; 
In  his  deportment,  shape,  and  mien,  appeared 
Elysian  beauty,  melancholy  grace, 
Brought  from  a  pensive  though  a  happy  place. 

He  spake  of  love,  such  love  as  spirits  feel 
In  worlds  whose  course  is  equable  and  pure; 

No  fears  to  beat  away,  no  strife  to  heal, 
The  past  unsighed  for,  and  the  future  sure; 

Spake  of  heroic  arts  in  graver  mood 

Revived,  with  finer  harmony  pursued; 

Of  all  that  is  most  beauteous  —  imaged  there 
In  happier  beauty:   more  pellucid  streams, 

An  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air, 

And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleams; 

Climes  which  the  sun,  who  sheds  the  brightest  day 

Earth  knows,  is  all  unworthy  to  survey. 

William  Wordsworth 


October   31  307 


MINISTERING  ANGELS 

FROM    "THE    FAERIE    QUEENe" 


A. 


.ND  is  there  care  in  heaven?  and  is  there  love 
In  heavenly  spirits  to  these  creatures  base, 
That  may  compassion  of  their  evils  move? 
There  is:  —  else  much  more  wretched  were  the  case 
Of  men  than  beasts.      But  oh!  th'  exceeding  grace 
Of  Highest  God  that  loves  his  creatures  so, 
And  all  his  works  with  mercy  doth  embrace, 
That  blessed  angels  he  sends  to  and  fro, 
To  serve  to  wicked  man,  to  serve  his  wicked  foe! 

How  oft  do  they  their  silver  bowers  leave 
To  come  to  succor  us  that  succor  want! 
How  oft  do  they  with  golden  pinions  cleave 
The  flitting  skies,  like  flying  pursuivant, 
Against  foul  fiends  to  aid  us  militant! 
They  for  us  fight,  they  watch  and  duly  ward, 
And  their  bright  squadrons  round  about  us  plant; 
And  all  for  love  and  nothing  for  reward; 
Oh,  why  should  Heavenly  God  to  men  have  such 
regard ! 

Edmund  Spenser 


3o8 


November   1 


LORD,   I   HAVE   LAIN 


.L/ORD,  I  have  Iain 

Barren  too  long,  and  fain 
I  would  redeem  the  time,  that  I  may  be 

Fruitful  to  Thee; 
Fruitful  in  knowledge,  love,  obedience, 

Ere  I  go  hence: 

That  when  I  come 
At  harvest  to  be  reaped,  and  brought  home, 

Thine  angels  may 
My  soul  in  Thy  celestial  garner  lay, 

Where  perfect  joy  and  bliss 

Eternal  is. 

If  to  entreat 

A  crop  of  purest  wheat, 
A  blessing  too  transcendent  should  appear 

For  me  to  hear, 
Lord,  makeVne  what  Thou  wilt,  so  Thou  wilt  take 

What  thou  dost  make, 

And  not  disdain 
To  house  me,  though  among  Thy  coarsest  grain; 

So  I  may  be 
Laid  with  the  gleanings  gathered  by  Thee, 

When  the  full  sheaves  are  spent, 

I  am  content. 

Francis  Quarles 


November  2  309 


QUIET  WORK 


o 


NE  lesson,  Nature,  let  me  learn  of  thee, 
One  lesson  which  in  every  wind  is  blown, 
One  lesson  of  two  duties  kept  at  one 
Though  the  loud  world  proclaim  their  enmity  — 

Of  toil  unsevered  from  tranquillity; 
Of  labor,  that  in  lasting  fruit  outgrows 
Far  noisier  schemes,  accomplished  in  repose, 
Too  great  for  haste,  too  high  for  rivalry. 

Yes,  while  on  earth  a  thousand  discords  ring, 
Man's  senseless  uproar  mingling  with  his  toil, 
Still  do  thy  quiet  ministers  move  on, 

Their  glorious  tasks  in  silence  perfecting; 
Still  working,  blaming  still  our  vain  turmoil, 
Laborers  that  shall  not  fail,  when  man  is  gone. 

Matthew  Arnold 


310  November^ 


QUESTIONS 

FROM    "MY    SOUL    AND    i" 

OTAND  still,  my  soul,  in  the  silent  dark 

I  would  question  thee, 
Alone  in  the  shadow  drear  and  stark 
With  God  and  me! 

What,  my  soul,  was  thy  errand  here? 

Was  it  mirth  or  ease, 
Or  heaping  up  dust  from  year  to  year? 

"Nay,  none  of  these!" 

Speak,  soul,  aright  in  His  holy  sight 

Whose  eye  looks  still 
And  steadily  on  thee  through  the  night: 

"To  do  His  will!" 

What  hast  thou  done,  oh  soul  of  mine 
That  thou  tremblest  so?  — 

Has  thou  wrought  His  task,  and  kept  the  line 
He  bade  thee  go? 

What  hast  thou  wrought  for  Right  and  Truth, 

For  God  and  Man, 
From  the  golden  hours  of  bright-eyed  youth 

To  Life's  mid-span? 

Ah,  soul  of  mine,  thy  tones  I  hear, 

But  weak  and  low, 
Like  far  sad  murmurs  on  my  ear 

They  come  and  go. 

John  Greexleaf  Whittier 


November   4  311 


"DO  THE  NEXT  THING' 


M. 


ANY  a  questioning,  many  a  fear, 
Many  a  doubt,  hath  its  quieting  here  — 
Moment  by  moment,  led  down  from  heaven, 
Time,  opportunity,  guidance  are  given! 
Fear  not  to-morrows,  Child  of  the  King! 
Trust  them  with  Jesus  —  "Do  the  next  thing." 

Do  it  immediately,  do  it  with  prayer, 

Do  it  reliantly,  casting  all  care; 

Do  it  with  reverence,  tracing  His  hand 

Who  hath  placed  it  before  thee  with  earnest 

command. 
Stayed  on  Omnipotence,  safe  neath  His  wing, 
Leave  all  resultings  —  "Do  the  next  thing." 

M.  E.  Paull 


312  November   5 


WHAT  OF  THAT? 

1  IRED!     Well,  what  of  that? 
Didst  fancy  life  was  spent  on  beds  of  ease, 
Fluttering  the  rose  leaves  scattered  by  the  breeze? 
Come,  rouse  thee!    work  while  it  is  called  to-day! 
Coward,  arise!    go  forth  upon  thy  way! 

Lonely !     And  what  of  that? 
Some  must  be  lonely!    'tis  not  given  to  all 
To  feel  a  heart  responsive  rise  and  fall, 
To  blend  another  life  into  its  own. 
Work  may  be  done  in  loneliness.     Work  on. 

Dark!     Well,  and  what  of  that? 
Didst  fondly  dream  the  sun  would  never  set? 
Dost  fear  to  lose  thy  way?     Take  courage  yet! 
Learn  thou  to  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight; 
Thy  steps  will  guided  be,  and  guided  right. 

Hard!     Well,  and  what  of  that? 
Didst  fancy  life  one  summer  holiday, 
With  lessons  none  to  learn,  and  nought  but  play? 
Go,  get  thee  to  thy  task!     Conquer  or  die! 
It  must  be  learned!     Learn  it  then  patiently. 

No  help!     Nay,  it's  not  so! 
Though  human  help  be  far,  thy  God  is  nigh. 
Who  feeds  the  ravens,  hears  his  children's  cry. 
He's  near  thee,  wheresoe'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 
And  he  will  guide  thee,  light  thee,  help  thee  home. 
Detroit  Free  Press 


November   6  313 


THOU   KNOWEST 

A  HOU  knowest,  O  my  Father!     Why  should  I 
Weary  high  heaven  with  restless  prayers  and  tears! 
Thou  knowest  all!    My  heart's  unuttered  cry 

Hath  soared  beyond  the  stars  and  reached  Thine 


Thou  knowest,  —  ah,  Thou  knowest!     Then  what 
need, 

O,  loving  God,  to  tell  Thee  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  with  persistent  iteration  plead 

As  one  who  crieth  at  some  closed  door? 

"Tease  not!"  we  mothers  to  our  children  say,  — 
"Our  wiser  love  will  grant  whate'er  is  best." 

Shall  we,  Thy  children,  run  to  Thee  alway, 
Begging  for  this  and  that  in  wild  unrest? 

I  dare  not  clamor  at  the  heavenly  gate, 

Lest  I  should  lose  the  high,  sweet  strains  within; 

O,  Love  Divine!    I  can  but  stand  and  wait 
Till  Perfect  Wisdom  bids  me  enter  in! 

Julia  Caroline  Ripley  Dorr 


314  November   7 


D 


RAIN 


ASHING  in  big  drops  on  the  narrow  pane, 
And  making  mournful  music  for  the  mind, 
While  plays  his  interlude  the  wizard  wind, 
I  hear  the  ringing  of  the  frequent  rain: 
How  doth  its  dreamy  tone  the  spirit  lull, 
Bringing  a  sweet  forgetfulness  of  pain, 
While  busy  thought  calls  up  the  past  again, 
And  lingers  mid  the  pure  and  beautiful 
Visions  of  early  childhood!   Sunny  faces 
Meet  us  with  looks  of  love,  and  in  the  moans 
Of  the  faint  wind  we  hear  familiar  tones, 
And  tread  again  in  old  familiar  places! 
Such  is  thy  power,  O  rain!   the  heart  to  bless, 
Wiling  the  soul  away  from  its  own  wretchedness. 
William  Henry  Burleigh 


November   8  315 


SONG 


N< 


O,  no,  the  falling  blossom  is  no  sign 
Of  loveliness  destroy'd  and  sorrow  mute; 
The  blossom  sheds  its  loveliness  divine;  — 
Its  mission  is  to  prophecy  the  fruit. 

Nor  is  the  day  of  love  for  ever  dead, 

When  young  enchantment  and  romance  are  gone; 
The  veil  is  drawn,  but  all  the  future  dread 

Is  lightened  by  the  finger  of  the  dawn. 

Love  moves  with  life  along  a  darker  way, 
They  cast  a  shadow  and  they  call  it  death: 

But  rich  is  the  fulfilment  of  their  day; 
The  purer  passion  and  the  firmer  faith. 

George  Meredith 


316 


November   9 


REST 


I 


LAY  me  down  to  sleep, 
With  little  thought  or  care 
Whether  my  waking  find 
Me  here,  or  there. 

A  bowing,  burdened  head, 

That  only  asks  to  rest, 
Unquestioning,  upon 

A  loving  breast. 

My  good  right  hand  forgets 

Its  cunning  now; 
To  march  the  weary  march 

I  know  not  how. 

I  am  not  eager,  bold, 

Nor  strong  —  all  that  is  past; 
I  am  ready  not  to  do 

At  last,  at  last. 

My  half  day's  work  is  done, 

And  this  is  all  my  part; 
I  give  a  patient  God 

My  patient  heart, 

And  grasp  His  banner  still, 

Though  all  its  blue  be  dim; 
These  stripes,  no  less  than  stars, 

Lead  after  Him. 

Mary  Woolsf.y  Howlaxd 


November   10  317 


HYMN 


O 


LI'L'  Iamb  out  in  de  col', 
De  Mastah  call  you  to  de  foI', 

O  IiT  Iamb! 
He  hyeah  you  bleatin'  on  de  hill; 
Come  hyeah  an'  keep  yo'  mou'nin'  still, 

O  IiT  Iamb! 

De  Mastah  sen'  de  Shepud  fo'f; 
He  wandah  souf,  he  wandah  no'f, 

O  IiT  Iamb! 
He  wandah  eas',  he  wandah  wes'; 
De  win'  a-wrenchin'  at  his  breas', 

O  IiT  Iamb! 

Oh,  tell  de  Shepud  whaih  you  hide; 
He  want  you  walkin'  by  his  side, 

O  IiT  Iamb! 
He  know  you  weak,  he  know  you  so'; 
But  come,  don't  stay  away  no  mo', 

O  IiT  Iamb! 

An'  af  ah  while  de  Iamb  he  hyeah 
De  Shepud's  voice  a-callin'  cleah  — 

Sweet  IiT  Iamb! 
He  answah  f'om  de  brambles  thick, 
"O  Shepud,  I's  a-comin'  quick"  — 

O  IiT  Iamb! 

Paul  Laurence  Dunbar 


3 1 8  N ov etnb  er  1 1 


A  GIRL  OF  POMPEII 

l\  PUBLIC    haunt  they  found  her  in: 

She  lay  asleep,  a  lovely  child; 

The  only  thing  left  undefiled 
Where  all  things  else  bore  taint  of  sin. 

Her  charming  contours  fixed  in  clay 

The  universal  law  suspend, 

And  turn  Time's  chariot  back,  and  blend, 
A  thousand  years  with  yesterday. 

A  sinless  touch,  austere  yet  warm, 
Around  her  girlish  figure  pressed, 
Caught  the  sweet  imprint  of  her  breast, 

And  held  her,  surely  clasped,  from  harm. 

Truer  than  work  of  sculptor's  art 
Comes  this  dear  maid  of  long  ago, 
Sheltered  from  woful  chance,  to  show 

A  spirit's  lovely  counterpart, 

And  bid  mistrustful  men  be  sure 
That  form  shall  fate  of  flesh  escape, 
And,  quit  of  eartn's  corruptions,  shape 

Itself,  imperishably  pure. 

Edward  Saxford  Martin 


November   12  319 


JUDGMENT 

FROM    "TO   THE    UNCO    GUId' 


JL  HEN  gently  scan  your  brother  man, 

Still  gentler  sister  woman; 
Though  they  may  gang  a  kennin'  wrang, 

To  step  aside  is  human. 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark, 

The  moving  why  they  do  it; 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us; 
He  knows  each  chord,  —  its  various  tone, 

Each  spring,  —  its  various  bias: 
Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute, 

We  never  can  adjust  it; 
What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 

But  know  not  what's  resisted. 

Robert  Burns 


320  November   13 


CALM 

"T 

X   IS  a  dull,  sullen  day,  —  the  gray  beach  o'er 
In  rippling  curves  the  ebbing  ocean  flows; 
Along  each  tiny  crest  that  nears  the  shore 

A  line  of  soft  green  shadows  rises,  glides,  and  goes. 

The  tide  recedes,  the  flat  smooth  beach  grows  bare, 
More  faint  the  low  sweet  plashing  on  my  ears, 

Yet  still  I  watch  the  dimpling  shadows  fair, 
As  each  is  born,  glides,  pauses,  disappears. 

What  channel  needs  our  faith,  except  the  eyes? 

God  leaves  no  spot  of  earth  unglorified; 
Profuse  and  wasteful,  lovelinesses  rise; 

New  beauties  dawn  before  the  old  have  died. 

Trust  thou  thy  joys  in  keeping  of  the  Power 

Who  holds  these  changing  shadows  in  His  hand; 

Believe  and  live,  and  know  that  hour  by  hour 
Will  ripple  newer  beauty  to  thy  strand. 

Thomas  Wentwortb  Higginson 


November  14  321 


HOPE 

FROM    "WITHIN    AND    WITHOUT"" 

^jLND  do  not  fear  to  hope.     Can  poet's  brain 

More  than  the  Father's  heart  rich  good  invent  ? 

Each  time  we  smell  the  autumn's  dying  scent, 

We  know  the  primrose  time  will  come  again; 

Not  more  we  hope,  nor  less  would  soothe  our  pain. 

Be  bounteous  in  thy  faith,  for  not  misspent 

Is  confidence  unto  the  Father  lent: 

Thy  need  is  sown  and  rooted  for  His  rain. 

His  thoughts  are  as  thine  own;   nor  are  His  ways 

Other  than  thine,  but  by  their  loftier  sense 

Of  beauty  infinite  and  love  intense. 

Work  on.     One  day,  beyond  all  thoughts  of  praise, 

A  sunny  joy  will  crown  thee  with  its  rays; 

Nor  other  than  thy  need,  thy  recompense. 

George  Macdonald 


322  November   15 

THE   LARGENESS  OF  TRUTH 
from  "astr.ca:    the  balance  of  illusions" 

A  HESE  lines  may  teach,  rough-spoken 
though  they  be, 
Thy  gentle  creed,  divinest  Charity! 
Truth  is  at  heart  not  always  as  she  seems, 
Judged  by  our  sleeping  or  our  waking  dreams. 

We  trust  and  doubt,  we  question  and  believe, 
From   life's   dark   threads   a   trembling   faith   to 

weave, 
Frail  as  the  web  that  misty  night  has  spun, 
Whose  dew-gemmed  awnings  glitter  in  the  sun. 
Though  Sovereign  Wisdom,  at  His  creatures'  call, 
Has  taught  us  much,  He  has  not  taught  us  all; 
When  Sinai's  summit  was  Jehovah's  throne, 
The  chosen  Prophet  knew  His  voice  alone; 
When  Pilate's  hall  that  awful  question  heard, 
The  Heavenly  Captive  answered  not  a  word. 

Eternal  Truth !    Beyond  our  hopes  and  fears 
Sweep  the  vast  orbits  of  thy  myriad  spheres! 
From  age  to  age  while  History  carves  sublime 
On  her  waste  rock  the  flaming  curves  of  time, 
How  the  wild  swayings  of  our  planet  show 
That  worlds  unseen  surround  the  world  we  know! 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


November   16  323 


TEARS 


w, 


HEN  I  consider  Life  and  its  few  years  — 
A  wisp  of  fog  betwixt  us  and  the  sun; 
A  call  to  battle,  and  the  battle  done 
Ere  the  last  echo  dies  within  our  ears; 
A  rose  choked  in  the  grass;   an  hour  of  fears; 
The  gusts  that  past.a  darkening  shore  do  beat; 
The  burst  of  music  down  an  unlistening  street  — 
I  wonder  at  the  idleness  of  tears. 
Ye  old,  old  dead,  and  ye  of  yesternight, 
Chieftains,  and  bards,  and  keepers  of  the  sheep, 
By  every  cup  of  sorrow  that  you  had, 
Loose  me  from  tears,  and  make  me  see  aright 
How  each  hath  back  what  once  he  stayed  to  weep; 
Homer  his  sight,  David  his  little  lad! 

LlZETTE    WOODWORTH    REESE 


324  November  17 


NOW   LIKE  A   RED  LEAF' 


I 


N  youth  how  slowly  passed  the  golden  day! 
As  if  upon  the  stillness  of  some  brook 
You  threw  a  rose-leaf,  and  the  rose-leaf  took 
Its  own  sweet  time  to  loiter  to  the  bay; 

The  lark  sang  always;   life  was  endless  play; 
We  lived  on  nectar  from  a  poet's  book; 
Drifting  along  by  many  a  sunny  nook, 
Little  we  cared  —  it  would  be  ever  May! 

Now,  like  a  red  leaf  on  the  autumnal  stream 

That  cannot  steer  nor  stop  —  that  cannot  sink  — 
Swiftly  I  glide.     As  in  some  fateful  dream 

There  is  no  time  to  pause  —  no  time  to  think; 
The  cataract  roars  —  I  see  the  white  foam  gleam 
Within  the  gorge  —  it  draws  me  to  the  brink! 

Lloyd  Mifflin 


November   18  325 


said  1  not  so? 

OAID  I  not  so,  —  that  I  would  sin  no  more? 

Witness,  my  God,  I  did; 
Yet  I  am  run  again  upon  the  score: 

My  faults  cannot  be  hid. 

What  shall   I   do?  —  make  vows  and  break 
them  still? 

'Twill  be  but  labor  lost; 
My  good  cannot  prevail  against  mine  ill: 

The  business  will  be  crost. 

"O,  say  not  so;   thou  canst  not  tell  what  strength 
Thy  God  may  give  thee  at  the  length. 

Renew  thy  vows,  and  if  thou  keep  the  last, 
Thy  God  will  pardon  all  that's  past. 

Vow  while  thou  canst;    while  thou  canst  vow, 
thou  mayst 
Perhaps  perform  it  when  thou  thinkest  least. 

"Thy  God  hath  not  denied  thee  all, 
Whilst  he  permits  thee  but  to  call. 
Call  to  thy  God  for  grace  to  keep 
Thy  vows;   and  if  thou  break  them,  weep. 
Weep  for  thy  broken  vows,  and  vow  again: 
Vows  made  with  tears  cannot  be  still  in  vain." 

Then  once  again 
I  vow  to  mend  my  ways; 

Lord,  say  Amen, 
And  thine  be  all  the  praise. 

George  Herbert 


326  November    19 


I   LAY   IN  SORROW,   DEEP   DISTRESSED 

I 


I 


LAY  in  sorrow,  deep  distressed: 

My  grief  a  proud  man  heard; 
His  looks  were  cold,  he  gave  me  gold, 

But  not  a  kindly  word. 
My  sorrow  passed,  —  I  paid  him  back 

The  gold  he  gave  to  me; 
Then  stood  erect  and  spoke  my  thanks, 

And  blessed  his  Charity. 


II 

I  lay  in  want,  in  grief  and  pain; 

A  poor  man  passed  my  way; 
He  bound  my  head,  he  gave  me  bread, 

He  watched  me  night  and  day. 
How  shall  I  pay  him  back  again, 

For  all  he  did  to  me? 
Oh,  gold  is  great,  but  greater  far 

Is  heavenly  Sympathy! 

Charles  Mackay 


November   20  327 


HUMAN  SYMPATHY 


FROM         ION 


T 


IS  a  little  thing 
To  give  a  cup  of  water;    yet  its  draught 
Of  cool  refreshment,  drained  by  fevered  lips, 
May  give  a  shock  of  pleasure  to  the  frame 
More  exquisite  than  when  nectarean  juice 
Renews  the  life  of  joy  in  happier  hours. 
It  is  a  little  thing  to  speak  a  phrase 
Of  common  comfort  which  by  daily  use 
Has  almost  lost  its  sense,  yet  on  the  ear 
Of  him  who  thought  to  die  unmourned  'twill  fall 
Like  choicest  music,  fill  the  glazing  eye 
With  gentle  tears,  relax  the  knotted  hand 
To  know  the  bonds  of  fellowship  again; 
And  shed  on  the  departing  soul  a  sense, 
More  precious  than  the  benison  of  friends 
About  the  honored  death-bed  of  the  rich, 
To  him  who  else  were  lonely,  that  another 
Of  the  great  family  is  near  and  feels. 

Sir  Thomas  Noon  Talfourd 


328 


November  21 


OUTWARDS  OR   HOMEWARDS 

OTILL  are  the  ships  that  in  haven  ride, 
Waiting  fair  winds  or  a  turn  of  the  tide; 
Nothing  they  fret,  though  they  do  not  get 
Out  on  the  glorious  ocean  wide. 
Oh,  wild  hearts,  that  yearn  to  be  free, 
Look,  and  learn  from  the  ships  of  the  sea! 

Bravely  the  ships,  in  the  tempest  tossed, 
Buffet  the  waves  till  the  sea  be  crossed; 
Not  in  despair  of  the  haven  fair, 
Though  winds  blow  backward,  and  leagues 

be  lost; 
Oh,  weary  hearts,  that  yearn  for  sleep, 
Look,  and  learn  from  the  ships  of  the  deep! 

Francis  William  Bourdillon 


November  2  2  329 

MY  TIMES  ARE   IN  THY  HAND 


M 


Y  times  are  in  thy  hand! 
I  know  not  what  a  day 
Or  e'en  an  hour  may  bring  to  me, 
But  I  am  safe  while  trusting  thee, 
Though  all  things  fade  away. 
All  weakness,  I 
On  him  rely 
Who  fix'd  the  earth  and  spread  the  starry  sky. 

My  times  are  in  thy  hand! 

Pale  poverty  or  wealth, 
Corroding  care  or  calm  repose, 
Spring's  balmy  breath  or  winter's  snows, 
Sickness  or  buoyant  health,  — 
Whate'er  betide, 
If  God  provide, 
'Tis  for  the  best;    I  wish  no  lot  beside. 

My  times  are  in  thy  hand! 

Should  friendship  pure  illume 
And  strew  my  path  with  fairest  flowers, 
Or  should  I  spend  life's  dreary  hours 
In  solitude's  dark  gloom, 
Thou  art  a  friend, 
Till  time  shall  end 
Unchangeably  the  same;   in  thee  all  beauties  blend. 

Christopher  Newman  Hall 


330  Nov  ember  2  3 


n 


L.   E.   L.'S  "  LAST  QUESTION 

"  Do  you  think  of  me  as  I  think  of  you?" 

From  her  Poem  written  during  the  Voyage  to  the  Cape 


O  you  think  of  me  as  I  think  of  you, 
My  friends,  my  friends?"  —  She  said  it   from  the 

sea, 
The  English  minstrel  in  her  minstrelsy, 
While,  under  brighter  skies  than  erst  she  knew, 
Her  heart  grew  dark,  and  groped  there  as  the  blind 
To  reach  across  the  waves  friends  left  behind  — 
"Do  you  think  of  me  as  I  think  of  you?" 

It  seemed  not  much  to  ask —  "as  /  of  you?" 
We  all  do  ask  the  same;    no  eyelids  cover 
Within  the  meekest  eyes  that  question  over: 
And  little  in  the  world  the  Loving  do 
But  sit  (among  the  rocks?)  and  listen  for 
The  echo  of  their  own  love  evermore  — 
"Do 

But  while  on  mortal  lips  I  shape  anew 
A  sigh  to  mortal  issues,  verily 
Above  the  unshaken  stars  that  see  us  die, 
A  vocal  pathos  rolls;   and  He  who  drew 
All  life  from  dust,  and  for  all  tasted  death, 
By  death  and  life  and  love,  appealing  saith, 
Do  you  think  oj  me  as  I  think  of  you  ? 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

1  Laetitia  Elteabeth  Landon,  the  poetess. 


November  2  4  331 

THY  WILL   BE   DONE 

JL  HY  way,  not  mine,  O  Lord, 
However  dark  it  be! 
Lead  me  by  Thine  own  hand, 
Choose  out  the  path  for  me. 

Smooth  let  it  be  or  rough, 

It  will  be  still  the  best; 
Winding  or  straight,  it  leads 

Right  onward  to  Thy  rest. 

I  dare  not  choose  my  lot; 

I  would  not,  if  I  might; 
Choose  Thou  for  me,  my  God; 

So  shall  I  walk  aright. 

The  kingdom  that  I  seek 

Is  Thine;    so  let  the  way 
That  leads  to  it  be  Thine; 

Else  I  must  surely  stray. 

Take  Thou  my  cup,  and  it 

With  joy  or  sorrow  fill, 
As  best  to  Thee  may  seem; 

Choose  Thou  my  good  and  ill; 

Not  mine,  not  mine  the  choice, 

In  things  or  great  or  small; 
Be  Thou  my  guide,  my  strength, 

My  wisdom,  and  my  all! 

HORATIUS   BONAR 


332  N ov em  b er  2  5 


NOVEMBER 

JL  HE  mellow  year  is  hastening  to  its  close; 
The  little  birds  have  almost  sung  their  last, 
Their  small  notes  twitter  in  the  dreary  blast  — 
That  shrill-piped  harbinger  of  early  snows; 
The  patient  beauty  of  the  scentless  rose, 
Oft  with  the  Morn's  hoar  crystal  quaintly  glass'd 
Hangs,  a  pale  mourner  for  the  summer  past, 
And  makes  a  little  summer  where  it  grows: 
In  the  chill  sunbeam  of  the  faint  brief  day 
The  dusky  waters  shudder  as  they  shine, 
The  russet  leaves  obstruct  the  straggling  way 
Of  oozy  brooks,  which  no  deep  banks  define, 
And  the  gaunt  woods,  in  ragged,  scant  array, 
Wrap  their  old  limbs  with  sombre  ivy  twine. 

Hartley  Coleridge 


N  ov  em  b  er  2  6  333 

LESSONS   FROM  THE  GORSE 

'  To  win  the  secret  of  a  weed's  plain  heart."  —  Lowell. 


M. 


.OUNTAIN  gorses,  ever  golden, 
Cankered  not  the  whole  year  long, 
Do  ye  teach  us  to  be  strong, 
Howsoever  pricked  and  holden, 
Like  your  thorny  blooms,  and  so 
Trodden  on  by  rain  and  snow, 
Up  the  hillside  of  this  life,  as  bleak  as  where  ye  grow? 

Mountain  blossoms,  shining  blossoms, 
Do  ye  teach  us  to  be  glad 
When  no  summer  can  be  had,     # 
Blooming  in  our  inward  bosoms?  — 
Ye  whom  God  preserveth  still, 
Set  as  lights  upon  a  hill, 
Tokens  to  the  wintry  earth  that  beauty  Iiveth  still. 

Mountain  gorses,  do  ye  teach  us 
From  that  academic  chair 
Canopied  with  azure  air, 
That  the  wisest  word  man  reaches 
Is  the  humblest  he  can  speak?  — 
Ye  who  live  on  mountain  peak, 
Yet  live  low  along  the  ground,  beside  the  grasses 

meek. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


334  November  27 

THE  JUDGMENT 

1   HOU  hast  done  evil 
And  given  place  to  the  devil; 
Yet  so  cunningly  thou  concealest 
The  thing  which  thou  feelest, 
That  no  eye  espieth  it, 
Satan  himself  denieth  it. 
Go  where  it  chooseth  thee, 
There  is  none  that  accuseth  thee; 
Neither  foe  nor  lover 
Will  the  wrong  uncover; 
The  world's  breath  raiseth  thee, 
And  thy  own  past  praiseth  thee. 

Yet  know  thou  this: 
At  quick  of  thy  being 
Is  an  eye  all-seeing, 
The  snake's  wit  evadeth  not, 
The  charmed  lip  persuadeth  not; 
So  thoroughly  it  despiseth 
The  thing  thy  hand  prizeth, 
Though  the  sun  were  thy  clothing, 
It  should  count  thee  for  nothing. 
Thine  own  eye  divineth  thee, 
Thine  own  soul  arraigneth  thee; 
God  himself  cannot  shrive  thee 
Till  that  judge  forgive  thee. 

Dora  Read  Goodale 


N ov em  her  2  8  335 


FOR   DIVINE   STRENGTH 

Jl    ATHER,  in  thy  mysterious  presence  kneeling, 
Fain  would  our  souls  feel  all  thy  kindling  love; 

For  we  are  weak  and  need  some  deep  revealing 
Of  trust  and  strength  and  calmness  from  above. 

Lord,  we  have  wandered  forth  through  doubt  and 
sorrow, 

And  thou  hast  made  each  step  an  onward  one; 
And  we  will  ever  trust  each  unknown  morrow  — 

Thou  wilt  sustain  us  till  its  work  is  done. 

In  the  heart's  depths  a  peace  serene  and  holy 
Abides;   and  when  pain  seems  to  have  her  will, 

Or  we  despair,  oh!    may  that  peace  rise  slowly, 
Stronger  than  agony,  and  we  be  still. 

Now,  Father  —  now,  in  thy  dear  presence  kneeling, 
Our  spirits  yearn  to  feel  thy  kindling  love; 

Now  make  us  strong  —  we  need  thy  deep  revealing 
Of  trust,  and  strength,  and  calmness  from  above. 

Samuel  Johnson 


336 


November  29 


THE   CRESCENT  AND  THE   CROSS 


K, 


.IND  was  my  friend  who,  in  the  Eastern  land, 
Remembered  me  with  such  a  gracious  hand, 
And  sent  this  Moorish  Crescent  which  has  been 
Worn  on  the  tawny  bosom  of  a  queen. 

No  more  it  sinks  and  rises  in  unrest 
To  the  soft  music  of  her  heathen  breast; 
No  barbarous  chief  shall  bow  before  it  more, 
No  turban'd  slave  shall  envy  and  adore! 

I  place  beside  this  relic  of  the  Sun 

A  Cross  of  Cedar  brought  from  Lebanon, 

Once  borne,  perchance,  by  some  pale  monk  who  trod 

The  desert  to  Jerusalem  —  and  his  God! 

Here  do  they  lie,  two  symbols  of  two  creeds, 
Each  meaning  something  to  our  human  needs, 
Both  stained  with  blood,  and  sacred  made  by  faith, 
By  tears,  and  prayers,  and  martyrdom,  and  death. 

That  for  the  Moslem  is,  but  this  for  me! 
The  waning  Crescent  lacks  divinity: 
It  gives  me  dreams  of  battles,  and  the  woes 
Of  women  shut  in  hushed  seraglios. 

But  when  this  Cross  of  simple  wood  I  see, 
The  Star  of  Bethlehem  shines  again  for  me, 
And  glorious  visions  break  upon  my  gloom  — 
The  patient  Christ,  and  Mary  at  the  Tomb! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich 


Nov e m  her  SO  337 

THE   AUTUMN  OF   LIFE 

FROM    "INTIMATIONS    OF    IMMORTALITY" 

A.  HOUGH  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 
Of  splendour  in  the  grass,  of  glory  in  the  flower; 
We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find 
Strength  in  what  remains  behind; 
In  the  primal  sympathy 
Which  having  been  must  ever  be; 
In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring 
Out  of  human  suffering; 
In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death, 
In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 

And  oh  ye  fountains,  meadows,  hills,  and  groves, 

Think  not  of  any  severing  of  our  loves! 

Yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  feel  your  might; 

I  only  have  relinquished  one  delight, 

To  live  beneath  your  more  habitual  sway. 

I  love  the  brooks,  which  down  their  channels  fret, 

Even  more  than  when  I  tripped  lightly  as  they: 

The  innocent  brightness  of  a  new-born  day 

Is  lovely  yet; 
The  Clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun 
Do  take  a  sober  colouring  from  an  eye 
That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality; 
Another  race  hath  been,  and  other  palms  are  won. 
Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live, 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys,  and  fears, 
To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

William  Wordsworth 


338  December  1 

DECEMBER 

X.  HE  beech  is  bare,  and  bare  the  ash, 

The  thickets  white  below; 
The  fir-tree  scowls  with  rfoar  moustache, 

He  cannot  sing  for  snow. 

The  body-guard  of  veteran  pines, 

A  grim  battalion,  stands; 
They  ground  their  arms,  in  ordered  lines, 

For  Winter  so  commands. 

The  waves  are  dumb  along  the  shore, 

The  river's  pulse  is  still; 
The  north-wind's  bugle  blows  no  more 

Reveille  from  the  hill. 

The  rustling  sift  of  falling  snow, 

The  muffled  crush  of  leaves, 
These  are  the  sounds  suppressed,  that  show 

How  much  the  forest  grieves; 

But,  as  the  blind  and  vacant  Day 

Crawls  to  his  ashy  bed, 
I  hear  dull  echoes  far  away, 

Like  drums  above  the  dead. 

Sigh  with  me,  Pine  that  never  changed! 

Thou  wear'st  the  Summer's  hue; 
Her  other  loves  are  all  estranged, 

But  thou  and  I  are  true! 

Bayard  Taylor 


December  2  339 


ON  HIS   DIVINE   POEMS 


Wi 


HEN  we  for  age  could  neither  read  nor  write, 
The  subject  made  us  able  to  indite: 
The  soul,  with  nobler  resolutions  deck'd, 
The  body  stooping,  does  herself  erect: 
No  mortal  parts  are  requisite  to  raise 
Her,  that  unbody'd  can  her  Maker  praise. 
The  seas  are  quiet,  when  the  winds  give  o'er: 
So,  calm  are  we,  when  passions  are  no  more! 
For  then  we  know  how  vain  it  was  to  boast 
Of  fleeting  things,  so  certain  to  be  lost. 
Clouds  of  affection  from  our  younger  eyes 
Conceal  that  emptiness,  which  age  descries. 
The  soul's  dark  cottage,  batter'd  and  decay'd, 
Lets  in   new  light,   through  chinks  that  time  has 

made: 
Stronger  by  weakness,  wiser  men  become, 
As  they  draw  near  to  their  eternal  home: 
Leaving  the  old,  both  worlds  at  once  they  view, 
That  stand  upon  the  threshold  of  the  new. 

Edmund  Waller 


340  December  3 


N« 


LAST   LINES 


O  coward  soul  is  mine, 
No  trembler  in  the  world's  storm-troubled  sphere: 

I  see  Heaven's  glories  shine, 
And  faith  shines  equal,  arming  me  from  fear. 

O  God  within  my  breast, 
Almighty,  ever-present  Deity! 

Life  —  that  in  me  has  rest, 
As  I  —  undying  Life  —  have  power  in  Thee! 

Vain  are  the  thousand  creeds 
That  move  men's  hearts:   unutterably  vain; 

Worthless  as  wither'd  weeds, 
Or  idlest  froth  amid  the  boundless  main, 

To  waken  doubt  in  one 
Holding  so  fast  by  Thine  infinity; 

So  surely  anchor'd  on 
The  steadfast  rock  of  immortality. 

With  wide-embracing  love 
Thy  Spirit  animates  eternal  years, 

Pervades  and  broods  above, 
Changes,  sustains,  dissolves,  creates,  and  rears. 

Though  earth  and  man  were  gone, 
And  suns  and  universes  cease  to  be, 

And  Thou  were  left  alone, 
Every  existence  would  exist  in  Thee. 

Emily  Bronte 


December  4  341 


O  LOVE  OF  GOD 


o 


LOVE  of  God,  how  strong  and  true! 
Eternal,  and  yet  ever  new; 
Uncomprehended  and  unbought, 
Beyond  all  knowledge  and  all  thought! 

O  heavenly  Love,  how  precious  still! 
In  days  of  weariness  and  ill, 
In  nights  of  pain  and  helplessness, 
To  heal,  to  comfort,  and  to  bless! 

O  wide-embracing,  wondrous  Love, 

We  read  Thee  in  the  sky  above; 

We  read  Thee  in  the  earth  below, 

In  seas  that  swell  and  streams  that  flow. 

We  read  Thee  best  in  Him  who  came 
To  bear  for  us  the  cross  of  shame, 
Sent  by  the  Father  from  on  high, 
Our  life  to  live,  our  death  to  die. 

O  Love  of  God,  our  shield  and  stay 
Through  all  the  perils  of  our  way; 
Eternal  love,  in  thee  we  rest, 
Forever  safe,  forever  blest. 

HORATIUS   BONAR 


3-p  December  5 


WINTER   SONG 

OUMMER  joys  are  o'er; 

Flowerets  bloom  no  more, 
Wintry  winds  are  sweeping; 
Through  the  snow-drifts  peeping, 

Cheerful  evergreen 

Rarely  now  is  seen. 

Now  no  plumed  throng 

Charms  the  wood  with  song; 
Ice-bound  trees  are  glittering; 
Merry  snow-birds,  twittering, 

Fondly  strive  to  cheer 

Scenes  so  cold  and  drear. 

Winter,  still  I  see 

Many  charms  in  thee,  — 
Love  thy  chilly  greeting, 
Snow-storms  fiercely  beating, 

And  the  dear  delights 

Of  the  long,  long  nights. 

German  of  Ludwig  H.  C.  Holty 
Translation  of  Charles  Timothy  Brooks 


December  6  343 


SONG  OF  THE   ROSES 

FROM    "GARDEN    FAIRIES" 

^OFTLY  sinking  through  the  snow, 
To  our  winter  rest  we  go, 
Underneath  the  snow  to  house 
Till  the  birds  be  in  the  boughs, 
And  the  boughs  with  leaves  be  fair, 
And  the  sun  shine  everywhere. 

"Softly  through  the  snow  we  settle, 

Little  snow-drops  press  each  petal. 

Oh,  the  snow  is  kind  and  white,  — 

Soft  it  is,  and  very  light; 

Soon  we  shall  be  where  no  light  is, 

But  where  sleep  is,  and  where  night  is,  — 

Sleep  of  every  wind  unshaken, 

Till  our  Summer  bids  us  waken." 

Then  toward  some  far-off  goal  that  singing  drew; 
Then  altogether  ceas'd;  more  steely  blue 
The  blue  stars  shone;   but. in  my  spirit  grew 

Hope  of  Summer,  love  of  Roses, 

Certainty  that  Sorrow  closes. 

Philip  Bourke  Marston 


344  December   7 


THE  GRAND  OLD   NAME 

FROM    MIN    MEMORIA.m" 

1   HE  churl  in  spirit,  howe'er  he  veil 
His  want  in  forms  for  fashion's  sake, 
Will  let  his  coltish  nature  break 
At  seasons  through  the  gilded  pale: 

For  who  can  always  act?     But  he, 
To  whom  a  thousand  memories  call, 
Not  being  less  but  more  than  all 

The  gentleness  he  seemed  to  be, 

So  wore  his  outward  best,  and  joined 
Each  office  of  the  social  hour 
To  noble  manners,  as  the  flower 

And  native  growth  of  noble  mind; 

Nor  ever  narrowness  or  spite, 
Or  villain  fancy  fleeting  by, 
Drew  in  the  expression  of  an  eye, 

Where  God  and  Nature  met  in  light; 

And  thus  he  bore  without  abuse 
The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman, 
Defamed  by  every  charlatan, 

And  soiled  with  all  ignoble  use. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


w. 


December  8  345 

SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY 

DIED    DECEMBER    7,     1 683 
AN    ELEGY    ON    A    FRIEND'S    PASSION    FOR 

HIS   astrophill" 


ITHIN  these  woods  of  Arcadie 
He  chiefe  delight  and  pleasure  tooke, 
And  on  the  mountaine  Parthenie, 
Upon  the  chrystall  liquid  brooke, 
The  Muses  met  him  ev'ry  day, 
That  taught  him  sing,  to  write,  and  say. 

When  he  descended  downe  to  the  mount, 
His  personage  seemed  most  divine, 
A  thousand  graces  one  might  count 
Upon  his  lovely,  cheerfull  eine; 

To  heare  him  speake  and  sweetly  smile, 

You  were  in  Paradise  the  while. 

A  sweet  attractive  kinde  of  grace, 

A  full  assurance  given  by  Iookes, 

Continuall  comfort  in  a  face, 

The  lineaments  of  Gospell  bookes; 
I  trowe  that  countenance  cannot  lie, 
Whose  thoughts  are  legible  in  the  eie. 

Was  never  eie  did  see  that  face, 
Was  never  eare  did  heare  that  tong, 
Was  never  minde  did  minde  his  grace, 
That  ever  thought  the  travell  long; 

But  eies,  and  eares,  and  ev'ry  thought, 
Were  with  his  sweet  perfections  caught. 

Matthew  Royden 


346 


December  9 


MILTON 

BORN    DECEMBER    9,     1608 


H, 


IS  feet  were  shod  with  music  and  had  wings 
Like  Hermes:   far  upon  the  peaks  of  song 
His  sandals  sounded  silverly  along; 
The  dull  world  blossomed  into  beauteous  things 
Where'er  he  trod;    and  Heliconian  springs 
Gushed  from  the  rocks  he  touched;    round  him 

throng 
Of  fair  invisibles,  seraphic,  strong, 
Struck  Orphean  murmurs  out  of  golden  strings; 
But  he,  spreading  keen  pinions  for  a  white 
Immensity  of  radiance  and  of  peace, 
Up-looming  to  the  Empyrean  infinite, 
Far  through  ethereal  fields,  and  zenith  seas, 
High,  with  strong  wing-beats  and  with  eagle  ease, 
Soared  in  a  solitude  of  glorious  light! 

Lloyd  Mifflin 


December  10  347 


SWEET   FORGETTING 


I 


.N  a  drear-nighted  December, 
Too  happy,  happy  tree, 
Thy  branches  ne'er  remember 
Their  green  felicity: 
The  north  cannot  undo  them 
With  a  sleety  whistle  through  them, 
Nor  frozen  thawings  glue  them 
From  budding  at  the  prime. 

In  a  drear-nighted  December, 
Too  happy,  happy  brook, 
Thy  bubblings  ne'er  remember 
Apollo's  summer  look; 
But  with  a  sweet  forgetting 
They  stay  their  crystal  fretting, 
Never,  never  petting 
About  the  frozen  time. 

Ah!    would  'twere  so  with  many 
A  gentle  girl  and  boy! 
But  were  there  ever  any 
Writhed  not  at  passed  joy? 
To  know  the  change  and  feel  it, 
When  there  is  none  to  heal  it 
Nor  numbed  sense  to  steal  it  — 
Was  never  said  in  rhyme. 

John  Keats 


348  December  11 


THE   FIRE   OF   LOVE 

FROM    THE    "EXAMEN    MISCELLANEL  M, "    I  ~o8 


T. 


HE  fire  of  love  in  youthful  blood, 
Like  what  is  kindled  in  brushwood, 

But  for  a  moment  burns; 
Yet  in  that  moment  makes  a  mighty  noise; 
It  crackles,  and  to  vapor  turns, 
And  soon  itself  destroys. 

But  when  crept  into  aged  veins 

It  slowly  burns,  and  then  long  remains, 

And  with  a  silent  heat, 
Like  fire  in  logs,  it  glows  and  warms  'em  long 
And  though  the  flame  be  not  so  great, 

Vet  is  the  heat  as  strong. 

Charles  Sackvllle,  Earl  of  Dorset 


December  12  349 


TREASURES  AND   FRIENDS 


H, 


OW  seldom,  friend!  a  good  great  man  inherits 
Honor  or  wealth,  with  all  his  worth  and  pains! 
It  sounds  like  stories  from  the  land  of  spirits, 
If  any  man  obtain  that  which  he  merits, 
Or  any  merit  that  which  he  obtains. 

For    shame,    dear    friend!    renounce    this    canting 

strain! 
What  wouldst  thou  have  a  good  great  man  obtain? 
Place,  titles,  salary  —  a  gilded  chain  — 
Or  throne  of  corses  which  his  sword  hath  slain? 
Greatness  and  goodness  are  not  means,  but  ends! 
Hath  he  not  always  treasures,  always  friends, 
The  good  great  man?  —  three  treasures,  love  and 

light, 
And  calm  thoughts,  regular  as  infant's  breath; 
And  three  firm  friends,   more  sure  than  day  and 

night  — 
Himself,  his  Maker,  and  the  angel  Death. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 


350  December  13 


THE   PROSPECT 


M 


ETHINKS  we  do  as  fretful  children  do, 
Leaning  their  faces  on  the  window-pane 
To  sigh  the  glass  dim  with  their  own  breath's  stain, 
And  shut  the  sky  and  landscape  from  their  view: 
And  thus,  alas,  since  God  the  maker  drew 
A  mystic  separation  'twixt  those  twain, 
The  life  beyond  us,  and  our  souls  in  pain, 
We  miss  the  prospect  which  we  are  called  unto 
By  grief  we  are  fools  to  use.     Be  still  and  strong, 
O  man,  my  brother!    hold  thy  sobbing  breath, 
And  keep  thy  soul's  large  window  pure  from  wrong, 
That  so,  as  life's  appointment  issueth, 
Thy  vision  may  be  clear  to  watch  along 
The  sunset  consummation-lights  of  death. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


B 


December  14 

OLD   LETTERS 

FROM    "iN    MEMORIAm" 


UT  when  those  others,  one  by  one, 
Withdrew  themselves  from  me  and  night, 
And  in  the  house  light  after  light 
Went  out,  and  I  was  all  alone, 

A  hunger  seized  my  heart;    I  read 

Of  that  glad  year  which  once  had  been, 

In  those  fall'n  leaves  which  kept  their  green, 

The  noble  letters  of  the  dead: 

And  strangely  on  the  silence  broke 

The  silent-speaking  words,  and  strange 
Was  love's  dumb  cry  defying  change 

To  test  his  worth;   and  strangely  spoke 

The  faith,  the  vigour,  bold  to  dwell 

On  doubts  that  drive  the  coward  back, 
And  keen  thro'  wordy  snares  to  track 

Suggestion  to  her  inmost  cell. 

So  word  by  word,  and  line  by  line, 

The  dead  man  touch'd  me  from  the  past, 
And  all  at  once  it  seem'd  at  last 

The  living  soul  was  flash'd  on  mine, 

And  mine  in  his  was  wound,  and  whirl'd 
About  empyreal  heights  of  thought, 
And  came  on  that  which  is,  and  caught 

The  deep  pulsations  of  the  world. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


35 


December  15 


LUX   EST   UMBRA   DEI 


N. 


AY,  Death,  thou  art  a  shadow!     Even  as  light 
Is  but  the  shadow  of  invisible  God, 
And  of  that  shade  the  shadow  is  thin  Night, 
Veiling  the  earth  whereon  our  feet  have  trod; 
So  art  Thou  but  the  shadow  of  this  life, 
Itself  the  pale  and  unsubstantial  shade 
Of  living  God,  fulfill'd  by  love  and  strife 
Throughout  the  universe  Himself  hath  made: 
And  as  frail  Night,  following  the  flight  of  earth, 
Obscures  the  world  we  breathe  in  for  a  while, 
So  Thou,  the  reflex  of  our  mortal  birth, 
Yeilest  the  life  wherein  we  weep  and  smile: 
But  when  both  earth  and  life  are  whirl'd  away, 
What   shade  can  shroud  us  from  God's  deathless 

day? 

John  Addixgtox  Symoxds 


December  16  353 


DEATH 


D 


EATH,  be  not  proud,  though  some  have  called 

thee 
Mighty  and  dreadful,  for  thou  art  not  so:  # 

For  those  whom  thou  think'st  thou  dost  overthrow 
Die  not,  poor  Death;    nor  yet  canst  thou  kill  me. 
From  Rest  and  Sleep,  which  but  thy  picture  be, 
Much  pleasure,  then  from  thee  much  more  must 

flow; 
And  soonest  our  best  men  with  thee  do  go  — 
Rest  of  their  bones  and  souls'  delivery! 
Thou'rt  slave  to  fate,  chance,  kings,  and  desperate 

men, 
And  dost  with  poison,  war,  and  sickness  dwell; 
And  poppy  or  charms  can  make  us  sleep  as  well 
And  better  than  thy   stroke.     Why   swell' st   thou 

then? 
One  short  sleep  past,  we  wake  eternally, 
And  Death  shall  be  no  more:    Death,  thou  shalt 

die! 

John  Donne 


354  December  17 


WHAT   LIFE   HATH 

1   ^TFF  hath  its  barren  years, 
When  blossoms  fall  untimely  down, 
When  ripened  fruitage  fails  to  crown 
The  summer  toil,  when  Nature's  frown 

Looks  only  on  our  tears. 

Life  hath  its  valleys  too, 
Where  we  must  walk  with  vain  regret, 
With  mourning  clothed,  with  wild  rain  wet  — 
Towards  sunlit  hopes  that  soon  must  set, 

All  quenched  in  pitying  dew. 

Life  hath  its  harvest  moons, 
Its  tasselled  corn  and  purple-weighted  vine, 
Its  gathered  sheaves  of  grain,  the  blessed  sign 
Of  plenteous  ripening,  bread,  and  pure,  rich  wine; 

Full  hearts  for  harvest  tunes. 

Life  hath  its  hopes  fulfilled, 
Its  glad  fruitions,  its  blessed  answered  prayers, 
Sweeter  for  waiting  long,  whose  holy  air, 
Indrawn  to  silent  souls,  breathes  forth  its  rare, 

Grand  speech  by  joy  distilled. 

Life  hath  its  Tabor  heights, 
Its  lofty  mounts  of  heavenly  recognition, 
Whose  unveiled  glories  flash  to  earth,  munition 
Of  love  and  truth  and  clear  intuition. 

Hail!    mount  of  all  delights. 

Sarah  Doudney 


December  18  355 


COMPENSATION 

A.   EARS  wash  away  the  atoms  in  the  eye 
That  smarted  for  a  day; 
Rain-clouds  that  spoiled  the  splendours  of  the  sky 
The  fields  with  flowers  array. 

No  chamber  of  pain  but  has  some  hidden  door 

That  promises  release; 
No  solitude  so  drear  but  yields  its  store 

Of  thought  and  inward  peace. 

No  night  so  wild  but  brings  the  constant  sun 

With  love  and  power  untold; 
No  time  so  dark  but  through  its  woof  there  run 

Some  blessed  threads  of  gold. 

And  through  the  long  and  storm-tost  centuries 
burn 

In  changing  calm  and  strife 
The  Pharos-lights  of  truth,  where'er  we  turn,  — 

The  unquenched  lamps  of  life. 

O  Light  divine!  we  need  no  fuller  test 

That  all  is  ordered  well; 
We  know  enough  to  trust  that  all  is  best 

Where  Love  and  Wisdom  dwell. 

Christopher  Pearse  Cranch 


356 


December  19 


THE   WIND  AND  THE   PINE 

FROM    "  EDWIN    THE    FAIR" 

X.  HE  wind,  when  first  he  rose  and  went  abroad 
Through  the  waste  region,  felt  himself  at  fault, 
Wanting  a  voice;   and  suddenly  to  earth 
Descended  with  a  wafture  and  a  swoop, 
Where,  wandering  volatile  from  kind  to  kind, 
He  woo'd  the  several  trees  to  give  him  one. 
First  he  besought  the  ash;   the  voice  she  lent 
Fitfully  with  a  free  and  lashing  change 
Flung  here  and  there  its  sad  uncertainties: 
The  aspen  next;   a  flutter'd  frivolous  twitter 
Was  her  sole  tribute:    from  the  willow  came, 
So  long  as  dainty  summer  dress'd  her  out, 
A  whispering  sweetness,  but  her  winter  note 
Was  hissing,  dry,  and  reedy:    lastly  the  pine 
Did  he  solicit,  and  from  her  he  drew 
A  voice  so  constant,  soft,  and  lowly  deep, 
That  there  he  rested,  welcoming  in  her 
A  mild  memorial  of  the  ocean-cave 
Where  he  was  born. 

Sir  Hexry  Taylor 


December  20  337 


E 


FROM   "FANCY" 


^VER  let  the  Fancy  roam, 
Pleasure  never  is  at  home: 
At  a  touch  sweet  Pleasure  melteth, 
Like  to  bubbles  when  rain  pelteth; 
Then  let  winged  Fancy  wander 
Through  the  thought  still  spread  beyond  her: 
Open  wide  the  mind's  cage-door, 
She'll  dart  forth,  and  cloudward  soar. 
O  sweet  Fancy!    let  her  loose; 
Summer's  joys  are  spoilt  by  use, 
And  the  enjoying  of  the  Spring 
Fades  as  does  its  blossoming: 
Autumn's  red-Iipp'd  fruitage  too, 
Blushing  through  the  mist  and  dew, 
Cloys  with  tasting:   What  do  then? 
Sit  thee  by  the  ingle,  when 
The  sear  faggot  blazes  bright, 
Spirit  of  a  winter's  night; 
When  the  soundless  earth  is  muffled, 
And  the  caked  snow  is  shuffled 
From  the  ploughboy's  heavy  shoon; 
When  the  Night  doth  meet  the  Noon 
In  a  dark  conspiracy 
To  banish  Even  from  her  sky. 
Sit  thee  there,  and  send  abroad, 
With  a  mind  self-overawed, 
Fancy,  high-commission'd:  —  send  her! 

John  Keats 


358 


D  e  c  e  m  b  e  r 


THE   FOREFATHERS1 

X   HAT  handful  of  half-starved  fanatics,"  so 
Their  gifted,  but  o'er  delicate  scion  writes 
Of  his  brave  forbears,  yet  their  praise  recites, 
As  men  whose  planting  was  ordained  to  grow. 
"That  handful"!     But  they  faced  the  savage  foe, 
They    cleared,    tilled,     builded,     scorning    vain 

delights. 
"Half-starved"?        In    spite    of     dearth,    hale 
appetites 
Found  wholesome  cheer,  such  as  we  seldom  know. 

"Fanatics"?     As  we  count  fanatics,  yes! 

Their  God  was  real;    they  sought  him  on  their 
knees; 
Sin  they  abhorred,  and  punished  to  excess, 

Since  God  alone  they   feared,   and  yearned  to 

please. 
With  all  their  faults,  give  us  true  men  like  these 
To  blaze  a  path  through  our  rank  wilderness! 

William  Addison  Houghtox 

1 "  Hawthorne."  by  Henry  James.  '  Eng.  Men  of  Letters'":  "  He  was 
fond  of  it  [New  England  history],  and  he  was  proud  of  it.  as  any  Xew 
Englander  must  be,  measuring  the  part  of  that  handful  of  half- 
starved  fanatics  who  formed  his  earliest  precursors,  in  laying  the 
foundations  of  a  mighty  empire."' 


December  2  2  359 


THE   PILGRIM   FATHERS 

A  HE  breaking  waves  dashed  high, 
On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 
And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 
Their  giant  branches  tossed. 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark, 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moor'd  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came; 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame; 

Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence,  and  in  fear;  - 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert's  gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine? 
The  wealth  of  seas?   the  spoils  of  war? 

No  —  'twas  a  faith's  pure  shrine. 

Yes,  call  that  holy  ground, 

Which  first  their  brave  feet  trod! 
They  have  left  unstain'd  what  there  they  found 

Freedom  to  worship  God! 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans 


360 


December  23 


CROWDED  OUT1 


N. 


OBODY  ain't  Christmas  shoppin' 
Fur  bis  stockin'. 
Nobody  ain't  cotch  no  turkey, 
Nobody  ain't  bake  no  pie, 
Nobody's  laid  nuthin'  by, 
Santa  Claus  don't  cut  no  figger 
Fur  bis  mammy's  little  nigger. 

Seems  Iak  everybody's  rushin' 

An  'er  crushin', 

Crowdin'  shops  and  jammin'  trolleys, 

Buvin'  shoes  an'  shirts  and  toys 

Fur  de  white  folks'  girls  and  boys; 

But  no  hobby  horse  ain't  rockin' 

Fur  bii.  little  wore  out  stockin'. 

He  ain't  quar'Iin',  recollec'; 

He  don't  spec' 

Nuthin',  hit's  his  not  expectin' 

Makes  his  mammy  wish-O-Laws! 

Fur  er  nigger  Santy  Claus 

Totin  jus  er  toy  balloon 

Fur  his  mammy's  little  coon. 

Rosalie  M.  Jones 

1  An  appeal  through  the  newspapers  for  a  Pickaninny  Christ- 
mas Tree,  in  remembrance  of  "  the  city's  dusky  poor." 


December  2  4  361 


THE   BELLS  OF  YULE 

FROM    "iN    MEMORIAm" 

JL  HE  time  draws  near  the  birth  of  Christ: 
The  moon  is  hid;   the  night  is  still; 
The  Christmas  bells  from  hill  to  hill 
Answer  each  other  in  the  mist. 

Four  voices  of  four  hamlets  round, 

From  far  and  near,  on  mead  and  moor, 
Swell  out  and  fail,  as  if  a  door 

Were  shut  between  me  and  the  sound: 

Each  voice  four  changes  on  the  wind, 
That  now  dilate,  and  now  decrease, 
Peace  and  goodwill,  goodwill  and  peace, 

f  eace  and  goodwill,  to  all  mankind. 

This  year  I  slept  and  woke  with  pain, 
I  almost  wish'd  no  more  to  wake, 
And  that  my  hold  on  life  would  break 

Before  I  heard  those  bells  again: 

But  they  my  troubled  spirit  rule, 
For  they  controIPd  me  when  a  boy: 
They  bring  me  sorrow  touch'd  with  joy, 

The  merry  merry  bells  of  Yule. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


362 


December  2  5 


THE    VOICE  OF  THE  CHRIST  CHILD 

A.   HE  earth  has  grown  old  with  its  burden  of  care, 

But  at  Christmas  is  always  young. 
The  heart  of  the  jewel  burns  beauteous  and  fair, 
And  its  soul  full  of  music  breaks  forth  on  the  air 

When  the  song  of  the  angels  is  sung. 

It  is  coming,  old  earth,  it  is  coming  to-night 

On  the  snowflakes  which  cover  the  sod, 
The  feet  of  the  Christ-child  fall  gentle  and  white 
And  the  voice   of  the   Christ-child   tells   out    with 
delight 
That  mankind  are  the  children  of  God. 

On  the  sad  and  the  lowly,  the  wretched  and  poor, 

The  voice  of  the  Christ-child  shall  fall. 
And  to  every  blind  wanderer  open  the  door 
Of  a  hope  that  he  dared  not  to  dream  of  before 
With  a  sunshine  of  welcome  for  all. 

The  feet  of  the  humblest  may  walk  in  the  fields 

Where  the  feet  of  the  Holiest  have  trod, 
This,  this  is  the  marvel  to  mortals  revealed 
When    the    silvery    trumpets    of    Christmas    have 
pealed, 
That  mankind  are  the  children  of  God. 

Phillips  Brooks 


December  2  6  363 


FAITHS 


A. 


.NUBIS  and  Osiris,  Bast  and  Baal, 
These  faiths  are  as  blown  sand  before  the  wind, 
And  where  redoubtable  Amnion  was  enshrined 

Only  the  prowling  desert  beasts  prevail. 

Prone  are  the  temples  in  the  Delphian  dale, 
And  the  Cumsean  Sibyl  who  shall  find? 
Proud  Ashtoreth  from  glory  has  declined, 

And  Thor  is  but  a  dim-remembered  tale. 

Their  signs  and  symbols  are  but  perished  things, 

Engulfed  for  aye  in  the  abyss  of  night; 
But  one  clear  star  its  fadeless  splendour  flings 

Adown  the  years,  unchanging  to  the  sight; 
And,    though    death    winnow   with    its    darksome 

wings, 
Still  points  the  way  unto  the  Perfect  Light. 

Clinton  Scollard 


364  December  2  7 

THE  SADDEST   FATE 

JL  O  touch  a  broken  lute, 
To  strike  a  jangled  string, 
To  strive  with  tones  forever  mute 
The  dear  old  tunes  to  sing  — 
What  sadder  fate  could  any  heart  befall? 
Alas!  dear  child,  never  to  sing  at  all. 

To  sigh  for  pleasures  flown, 

To  weep  for  withered  flowers, 
To  count  the  blessings  we  have  known, 
Lost  with  the  vanish'd  hours  — 
What  sadder  fate  could  any  heart  befall? 
Alas  !  dear  child,  ne'er  to  have  known  them  all. 

To  dream  of  love  and  rest, 

To  know  the  dream  has  passed, 
To  bear  within  an  aching  breast 
Only  a  void  at  last  — 
What  sadder  fate  could  any  heart  befall? 
Alas  !  dear  child,  ne'er  to  have  loved  at  all. 

To  trust  an  unknown  good, 

To  hope,  but  all  in  vain. 

Over  a  far-off  bliss  to  brood 

Only  to  find  it  pain  — 

What  sadder  fate  could  any  heart  befall? 

Alas  !  dear  child,  never  to  hope  at  all. 

Anonymous 


December  28  365 


TO  MY   FRIENDS 

from  "proem":  to  "the  bells" 

j[    E  friends  that  gild  my  humbler  way! 
Ye  stars  that  brighten  year  by  year! 
I  know  your  hearts  are  with  him  here 
Who  seeks  to  tread  a  wider  sphere; 
I  know  the  words  that  ye  would  say. 

And  thou,  O  friend!    I  have  not  seen! 
Whose  hand  has  never  grasped  my  own, 
Whose  ear  has  never  caught  a  tone 
From  lips  of  mine,  to  whom  I'm  known 

In  thoughts,  and  not  by  form  or  mien; 

May  I  not  hope  some  passing  tone 
May  start  thy  sleeping  memory, 
May  bring  some  clouded  joy  to  thee? 
'Twere  sweet  to  know,  though  strangers  we, 

Thy  heart  is  chiming  with  my  own! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich 


366 


December  29 

THE   HARVEST  OF   LOVE 

FROM    "THE    CURSE    OF    KEHAMa" 


A  HEY  sin  who  tell  us  love  can  die: 
With  life  all  other  passions  fly, 
All  others  are  but  vanity. 
In  Heaven  ambition  cannot  dwell, 
Nor  avarice  in  the  vaults  of  Hell: 
Earthly  these  passions,  as  of  Earth, 
They  perish  where  they  have  their  birth. 

But  Love  is  indestructible; 
Its  holy  flame  for  ever  burneth, 
From  Heaven  it  came,  to  Heaven  returneth. 
Too  oft  on  Earth  a  troubled  guest, 
At  times  deceived,  at  times  opprest; 

It  here  is  tried  and  purified, 
And  hath  in  Heaven  its  perfect  rest. 
It  soweth  here  with  toil  and  care, 
But  the  harvest-time  of  Love  is  there. 
Oh!    when  a  mother  meets  on  high 
The  babe  she  lost  in  infancy, 
Hath  she  not  then  for  pains  and  fears, 

The  day  of  woe,  the  anxious  night, 
For  all  her  sorrow,  all  her  tears, 

An  over-payment  of  delight? 

Robert  Southey 


December  3  0  367 

PEACE  ON   EARTH! 

FROM    "THE    END    OF    THE    PLAY" 

V_>jOME  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 

Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  awful  will, 

And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart. 
Who  misses  or  who  wins  the  prize  — 

Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can; 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise, 

Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 

A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young! 

(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lays;) 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 

Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days; 
The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead  — 

The  joyful  angels  rais'd  it  then: 
Glory  to  heaven  on  high,  it  said, 

And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  men! 

My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth; 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside, 
And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth, 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas-tide. 
As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth, 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  still: 
Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth, 

To  men  of  gentle  will. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 


368  December  31 

HYMN    FOR  THE   NEW  YEAR* 

VjOME,  let  us  anew 

Our  journey  pursue  — 

Roll  round  with  the  year, 
And  never  stand  still  till  the  Master  appear: 

His  adorable  will 

Let  us  gladly  fulfill, 

And  our  talents  improve 
By  the  patience  of  hope,  and  the  labor  of  love. 

Our  life  is  a  dream; 

Our  time,  as  a  stream, 

Glides  swiftly  away, 
And  the  fugitive  moment  refuses  to  stay: 

The  arrow  is  flown, 

The  moment  is  gone: 

The  millennial  year 
Rushes  on  to  our  view,  and  eten  ity's  near. 

O  that  each,  in  the  day 

Of  His  coming,  may  say, 

"I  have  fought  my  way  through; 
I  have  finished  the  work  Thou  didst  give  me  tc 
do." 

O  that  each  from  his  Lord 

May  receive  the  glad  word, 

"Well  and  faithfully  done! 

Enter  into  My  joy,  and  sit  down  on  My  throne!" 

Charles  Wesley 

1  Used  much  by  the  Methodists,  and  by  many  old-fashioned  relig- 
ious families,  as  a  Watch-night  Hymn  at  midnight,  when  the  old 
year  passes  into  the  new. 


INDEX  OF   FIRST   LINES 


INDEX  OF   FIRST  LINES 


Above  yon  sombre  swell  of  land  .    . 

A  cloud  lay  cradled  near  the  setting  sun 

A  garden  is  a  Iovesome  thing,  God  wot! 

A  good  that  never  satisfies  the  mind 

A  knocking  at  my  heart  —  and  what  art  thou? 

All  are  not  taken!  there  are  left  behind 

All  beautiful  things  bring  sadness    . 

All  thoughts  of  ill:  all  evil  deeds 

Alone  I  walked  the  ocean  strand   . 

A  lonely  way,  and  as  I  went  my  eyes. 

Although  I  love  my  friend,  still  let  me  yield 

And  do  not  fear  to  hope.     Can  poet's  brain 

And  is  there  care  in  heaven?     .... 

And  slowly  answer'd  Arthur  from  the  barge 

And  thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and  father 

confessor 

Anubis  and  Osiris,  Bast  and  Baal  . 

A  public  haunt  they  found  her  in    . 

Art  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden  slumbers 

As  on  my  bed  at  dawn  I  mused  and  prayed 

As  one  dark  morn  I  trod  a  forest  glade  . 

As  pants  the  hart  for  cooling  streams  . 

A  swallow  in  the  spring 

Awake,  my  Soul,  and  with  the  sun. 
Away,  haunt  thou  not  me     .... 
A  weary  weed,  tossed  to  and  fro 


Beautiful,  sublime  and  glorious. 

Be  firm!   one  constant  element  in  luck 

Believe  not  that  your  inner  eye 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  Dawn's  aerial  cope 

Be  not  afraid  to  pray  —  to  pray  is  right 

37i 


125 

277 

247 

18 

59 

248 
289 
149 
217 
155 
297 
321 
207 
93 

284 
363 
318 
255 
158 
200 
236 
120 
172 
202 
201 

260 
222 
184 

13 
16 


372     Index  of  First  Lines 

PAGE 

Be  not  dismay'd,  thou  little  flock    .      .      .      .  104 

Be  patient!    Oh,  be  patient! 127 

Beside  the  de.'d  I  knelt  for  prayer   ....  80 

Best  and  brightest,  come  away!       ....  62 

Be  thou  content;  be  still  before       .      .      .      .  in 

Beware,  exulting  youth,  beware 194 

Be  wise  to-day:  'tis  madness  to  defer      ...  10 

Bird  of  the  wilderness 156 

Blest  is  the  man  whose  heart  and  hands  are 

pure 210 

Blue-bird!   on  your  leafless  tree 72 

Brave  flowers  —  that  I   could  gallant  it  like 

you                              138 

But  often,  in  the  worlds  most  crowded  streets  1 10 

But  when  those  others,  one  by  one              .  35 1 

By  all  means  use  sometimes  to  be  alone     .      .  3 

By  thine  own  soul's  law  learn  to  live    .       .       .  276 

Calm  me,  my  God,  and  keep  me  calm  .      .      .  221 

Close  not  thy  hand  upon  the  innocent  joy       .  170 

Come,  let  us  anew 368 

Comes,  at  times,  a  stillness  as  of  even  .             .  151 

Come,  track  with  me  this  little  vagrant  rill  .  157 

Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill  .  367 
Come  with  bent  bows  and  with  emptying  of 

quivers 106 

Confide  ye  aye  in  Providence            ....  208 

Count  each  affliction,  whether  light  or  grave  280 

Darkness  before,  all  joy  behind!       ....  223 

Dashing  in  big  drops  on  the  narrow  pane      .  314 

Daughter  of  Jove,  relentless  pow'r  ....  42 
Dear  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside  the 

way 126 

Dear,  secret  greenness!  nurst  below  .  .  115 
Death,  be  not  proud,  though  some  have  called 

thee .-353 

Doth    the  bright   sun   from   the  high  arch   of 

heaven 235 


Index  of  First  Lines    373 


Do  you  think  01  me  as  I  think  of 


you. 


Endurance  is  the  crowning  quality 
Ere  on  my  bed  my  limbs  J  lay    .... 
Eterne  Apollo!   that  thy  sister  fair 
Ethereal  minstrel !  pilgrim  of  the  sky !  . 

Ever  let  the  Fancy  roam 

Evermore,  through  years  renew'd    . 

Fairest  of  all  the  lights  above     .... 
Farewell,  friends!     Yet  not  farewell 
Father,  in  thy  mysterious  presence  kneeling 
Fever  and  fret  and  aimless  stir 
Few  know  of  life's  beginnings     .... 
For  him  her  old-world  moulds  aside  she  threw 
For  Winter  came;  the  wind  was  his  whip  . 
Fresh  fields  and  woods!    the  earth's  fair  face 
Fret  not,  poor  soul:  while  doubt  and  fear  . 
From  child  to  youth:    from  youth  to  arduous 
man 


Give  me  my  scallop-shell  of  quiet    . 

Give  me  the  splendid  silent  sun 

God  might  have  bade  the  earth  bring  forth 

God  of  the  dew 

God  of  the  living,  in  Whose  eyes 

God  sends  his  teachers  unto  every  age     . 

God  spake  three  times  and  saved  Van  Elsen's 

soul 

Gold!  gold!  gold!  gold!  ...... 

Go,  pretty  child,  and  bear  this  flower  . 
Great  Ocean!   strongest  of  creation's  seas  . 
Green  little  vaulter  in  the  sunny  grass  . 

Hail,  beauteous  stranger  of  the  grove  . 

Hark  how  the  birds  do  sing 

Hark,  my  soul,  how  everything. 
Henceforward,  listen  as  we  will  .... 
He  sendeth  sun,  he  sendeth  shower 


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374     Index  oj  Fir  si  Lines 


I  le  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall 

His  feet  were  shod  with  music  and  had  wings 

Honor  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise    . 

How  beautiful  is  genius  when  combined 

How  beautiful  it  is  to  be  alive. 

How  can  we  tell  who  sinned  more  than  we? 

How  desolate  were  nature,  and  how  void. 

How  does  Death  speak  of  our  beloved 

How  fine  has  the  day  been!    how  bright  was 
the  sun! 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 

How  oft  I've  watch' d  thee  from  the  garden 
croft 

How  peacefully  the  broad  and  golden  moon 

How  peacefully  the  sunlight  fell 

How  pure  at  heart  and  sound  in  head 

How  seldom,  friends!  a  good  great  man  in- 
herits          

How  vainly  men  themselves  amaze 

I  am  Thy  grass,  O  Lord .... 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern 

I  do  not  ask,  O  Lord,  that  life  may  be 

I  dreamed  I  had  a  plot  of  ground 

I  feel  a  newer  life  in  every  gale 

If  the  world  seems  cool  to  you 

I  have  seen  a  curious  child,  who  dwelt 

tract    

I  lay  in  sorrow,  deep  distressed 
I  lay  me  down  to  sleep  .... 
I  like  the  man  who  faces  what  he  must 
I  made  a  posie,  while  the  day  ran  by 
Immortal  Clouds  from  the  echoing  shore 
In  a  drear-nighted  December  .... 
In  calm  and  cool  and  silence,  once  again 
In  praise  of  little  children  I  will  say  . 
In  the  still  air  the  music  lies  unheard 

Into  the  Silent  Land! 

In  youth  how  slowly  passed  the  golden  day 


upon  a 


Index  oj  First  Lines  375 

PAGE 

I  praise  God  that  he  gave  man  breath   .      .  287 

I  praised  the  earth,  in  beauty  seen        .       .       .  220 

I  saw  old  Time,  destroyer  of  mankind       .       .  31 

I  see  the  wrong  that  round  me  lies        .      .       .  293 

Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool 207 

Is  there  for  honest  poverty 68 

I  stood  tiptoe  upon  a  little  hill        .       .       .       .  135 

I  thank  Thee,  O  My  God!  who  made  ...  70 

It  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud 129 

It  was  on  Saturday  eve,  in  the  gorgeous  bright 

October 288 

I  weigh  not  fortune's  frown  or  smile    .       .       .231 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 123 

I  will  not  have  the  mad  Clytie 164 

Jesus,  there  is  no  dearer  name  than  thine   .      .  50 

Judge  not;    the  workings  of  his  brain.       .       .  305 

Just  on  the  farther  bound  of  sense      ...  96 

Keep  your  splendid  silent  sun 265 

Kind    was    my    friend,    who,    in   the    Eastern 

land 336 

Labor  is  life!  'tis  the  still  water  faileth       .      .  137 

Launched  upon  ether  floats  the  world  secure  124 

Leave  me,  O  Love  which  reachest  but  to  dust  177 

Let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 160 

Licinius,  you  will  safer  steer 190 

Life  hath  its  barren  years 354 

Life!  I  know  not  what  thou  art        ....  203 

Life's  mystery,  —  deep,  restless  as  the  ocean  119 

Lift  up  3rour  heads,  rejoice 107 

Look  in  my   face;  my  name  is  Might-have- 
been    14 

Lord,  I  am  small,  and  yet  so  great     .      .      .  296 

Lord,  I  have  Iain 308 

Lord,  should  we  oft  forget  to  sing        .      .      .  142 
Lord,    what    a   change   within    us   one    short 

hour 301 


; 


376    Index  of  First  Lines 

PAGE 

Many  a  questioning,  many  a  fear    .      .      .      .  311 

Martial,  the  things  that  do  attain    ....  76 

Master  of  human  destinies  am  I    .  6 

Methinks  we  do  as  fretful  children  do        .      .  350 

Methought  that  in  a  solemn  church  I  stood   .  191 

Most  glorious  Lord  of  Lyfe 112 

Most  sweet  it  is  with  unuplifted  eyes        .      .  141 

Mountain  gorses,  ever  golden           .  333 

Mourn,  for  to  us  he  seems  the  last      .      .      .  261 

My  God,  I  love  thee!  not  because    ....  71 

My  God!    O  let  me  call  Thee  mine     ...  48 

My  God,  where  is  that  ancient  heat    ...  20 

My  minde  to  me  a  kingdom  is        ....  282 

My  sorrow  is  my  throne 86 

My  soul,  there  is  a  country 99 

Mysterious  night!  when  our  first  parent  knew  189 

My  times  are  in  Thy  hands 329 

Nae  shoon  to  hide  her  tiny  taes      ....  257 
Nay,  Death,   thou   art   a   shadow.     Even   as 

light  r      .      .      .      .      -     .-      ■      •      •      ■  352 

Nobody  ain't  Christmas  shoppin'    ....  360 

No  coward  soul  is  mine 340 

No  noise  is  here,  or  none  that  hinders  thought  36 

No,  no,  the  falling  blossom  is  no  sign      .       .  315 

Nor  force  nor  fraud  shall  sunder  us!    .      .      .  189 

Nor  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounds        .  166 

No  stream  from  its  source 175 

Not  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought   .      .      .  219 

Not  in  the  solitude 281 

Not  seldom,  clad  in  radiant  vest    .      .      .      .252 
Now  fades  the  last  long  streak  of  snow    .      .  95 
Now  when  the  dusky  shades  of  night,  retreat- 
ing         105 

O  backward-looking  son  of  time!    ....  90 

O  day  of  life,  of  light,  of  love 242 

O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain    .      .             .      .  180 

O  God,  impart  thy  blessing  to  my  cries  .      .  226 


Index  of  First  Lines    377 


O  God!  methinks  it  were  a  happy  life     . 
O  God,  our  Father,  if  we  had  but  truth! 
O  God,  our  help  in  ages  past   .... 
Oh  good  gigantic  smile  o'  the  brown  old  earth 
Oh!   it  is  great  to  feel  that  nought  of  earth 
Oh,  to  be  in  England  now  that  April's  there 
Old  things  need  not  therefore  be  true 

O  let  me  be  alone  awhile 

O  IiT  Iamb  out  in  de  col' 

O  Love  Divine,  that  stooped  to  share 
O  love  of  God,  how  strong  and  true!  . 
One  lesson,  Nature,  let  me  learn  of  thee   . 

Only  a  tender  little  thing 

O  Piety!    O  heavenly  Piety!      .... 

O  soft  embalmer  of  the  still  midnight 

O,  sometimes  gleams  upon  our  sight   . 

O  star  on  the  breast  of  the  river! 

Others  abide  our  question.     Thou  art  free 

O  thou  God's  mariner,  heart  of  mine! 

O  thou  great  Friend  to  all  the  sons  of  men 

Oh  thou  of  dark  forebodings  drear 

O  unseen  Spirit!    now  a  calm  divine   . 

Our  fathers'  God!    from  out  whose  hand 

Out  of  the  frozen  earth  below 

Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me 

O  world,  thou  choosest  not  the  better  part! 

O  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good     . 

"Peace!"  he  said 

Pleasures  lie  thickest  where  no  pleasures  seem 
Poor  Soul,  the  center  of  my  sinful  earth  . 
Prayer  is  the  soul's  sincere  desire    . 
Prime  thou  thy  words,  the  thought  control 
Primeval  Hope,  the  Aonian  Muses  say 

Remember  Him,  the  only  One 
Remember  me  when  I  am  gone  away 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep    . 


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378    Index  of  First  Lines 


Sad  Hesper  o'er  the  buried  sun 

Sad  is  our  youth,  for  it  is  ever  going 

Said  I  not  so,  —  that  I  would  sin  no  more? 

Say  not  the  struggle  naught  availeth  . 

Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness     . 

See  yon  blithe  child  that  dances  in  our  sight 

See  yon  robin  on  the  spray 

Shakespeare,  thy  legacy  of  peerless  song 

Shed  no  tear!     O  shed  no  tear    . 


Show  me  the  way,  O  Lord 

Shun  delays,  they  breed  remorse   . 

Sin  clouds  the  mind's  clear  vision 

Slaver  of  Winter,  art  thou  here  again 

Softly  sinking  through  the  snow 

Some  sings  of  the  lily,  and  daisy,  and  rose 

Sometime  walking,  not  unseen 

Speak  low  to  me,  my  Saviour,  low  and  sweet 

Stand  still,  my  soul,  in  the  silent  dark     . 

Stay,  Master,  stay  upon  this  heavenly  hill 

Still  are  the  ships  that  in  haven  ride 

Still,  still    with   thee,    when   purple   morning 

breaketh 

Still  the  years  roll  on 

Stop,  mortal!    Here  thy  brother  lies   . 
Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love 
Summer  is  coming,  summer  is  coming 

Summer  joys  are  o'er 

Sweet  after  showers,  ambrosial  air 
Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright 
Sweet  is  the  rose,  but  grows  upon  a  brier 
Sweet  Morn!  from  countless  cups  of  gold 


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63 
343 
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310 
136 
328 

U3 

33 

206 

131 
108 
342 
114 
147 
92 
122 


Take  the  world  as  it  is!  —  there  are  good 

and  bad  in  it 291 


Teach  me  to  live!     'Tis  easier  far  to  die 
Tears  wash  away  the  atoms  in  the  eye    . 
"That  handful  of  half-starved  fanatics,"  so 
The  angel  of  the  flowers,  one  day 
The  beech  is  bare,  and  bare  the  ash  . 


103 
35$ 
358 
163 
33S 


Index  of  First  Lines    379 


The  blessed  morn  has  come  again 
The  breaking  waves  dashed  high  . 
The  churl  in  spirit,  howe'er  he  veil 

The  curtain  of  the  dark 

The  earth  has  grown  old  with  its  burden  of 

care  

The  fierce  exulting  worlds,  the  motes  in  ray 
The  fire  of  love  in  youthful  blood 
The  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 
The  groves  were  God's  first  temples   . 
The  harp"  at  Nature's  advent  strung   . 
The  lopped  tree  in  time  may  grow  again 
The  mellow  year  is  hastening  to  its  close 
Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man    . 
There  is  a  soul  above  the  soul  of  each 
There  is  May  in  brooks  forever 
There  is  no  remedy  for  time  misspent     . 
There  shall  never  be  one  lost  good 
There's  never  an  always  cloudless  sky  . 
There  the  moon  leans  out  and  blesses 
Ther  is  Iyf  withoute  ony  deth   .... 
The  roseate  hues  of  early  dawn     . 
The  sea  is  a  jovial  comrade  ..... 

These  beauteous  forms 

These  lines  my  teach,    rough-spoken  though 

they  be     

The  spring-tide  hour 

The  sweetest  lives  are  those  to  duty  wed 
The  time  draws  near  the  birth  of  Christ. 
The  wind,  when  first  he  rose  and  went  abroad 
The  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole   . 
The  work  of  the  sun  is  slow      .... 
The  world  is  ever  as  we  take  it 
They  do  me  wrong  who  say  I  come  no  mor< 
They  sin  who  tell  us  love  can  die     . 
They  soon  grow  old  who  grope  for  gold 
This  only  grant  me,  that  my  means  may  lie 
Thou    blind   man's   mark,    thou    fool's   self- 
chosen  snare  ........... 


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PAGE 

Thou  earnest  not  to  thy  place  by  accident   .        44 

Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour  337 

Thoughts  hardly  to  be  packed 97 

Thou  Grace  Divine,  encircling  all        ...  199 

Thou  hast  done  evil 334 

Thou  knowest,  O  my  Father!     Why  should  I  313 

Thus  is  it  over  all  the  earth 171 

Thy  way,  not  mine,  O  Lord 331 

Time  takes  them  home  that  we  loved        .      .        60 

Tired!    Well,  what  of  that? 312 

'Tis  a  dull,  sullen  day,  —  the  gray  beach  o'er  320 

'Tis  a  little  thing  to  give  a  cup  of  water  327 

'Tis  but  a  little  faded  flower 285 

'Tis  gone  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze  302 
'Tis  sorrow  builds  the  shining  ladder  up  52 

'Tis  Winter  now,  the  fallen  snow  ....        58 

To  keep  the  lamp  alive  ....  259 

To  music  bent  is  my  retired  mind        .      .      .  258 

To  one  who  has  been  long  in  city  pent   .      .  193 

To  spend  the  long  warm  days       ....  205 

To  touch  a  broken  lute 364 

Tumbling  on  steadily,  nothing  dreading     .      .  145 
Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  and  lower  the 

proud 25 

'Twixt  gleams  of  joy  and  clouds  of  doubt  253 

Vital  spark  of  heav'nly  flame!        ....        79 

We  lack,  yet  cannot  fix  upon  the  lack     .  12 

We  look  before  and  after 178 

We  need  not  bid,  for  cloistered  cell  ...        77 

We  shape  ourselves  the  joy  or  fear     .      .  279 
We  should   fill   the   hours  with  the  sweetest 

things 212 

We  slight  the  gifts  that  every  season  bears  .  270 
What  figure  more  immovably  august        .  55 

What  is  House,  and  what  is  Home      ...        54 

"What  is  thy  creed?"  a  hundred  lips  inquire  215 
What  might  be  done  if  men  were  wise      .      .        39 


1  ndex  oj  F ir st  Line s    381 


What's   hallowed   ground? 

What  soul-like  changes,  evanescent  moods 
What  then  remains?     To  seek 
What  were  a  God  outside  creation  dwelling 
When  first  I  saw  true  beauty,  and  Thy  joys 
When  first  Religion  came  to  bless  the  land 
When  first  the  unflowering  Fern-forest    . 
When  first  thy  eyes  unveil        .... 
When  God  at  first  made  man    .... 
When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent   . 
When  I  consider  Life  and  its  few  years   . 
When  Love  arose  in  heart  and  deed  . 
When  one  can  die  with  the  proud  conscious 

ness     ...  

When  we  for  age  could  neither  read  nor  write 

White  little  hands 

Who  drives  the  horses  of  the  sun  . 

Who  seeketh,  finds:  what  shall  be  his  relief 

Why  mourn  we  for  the  golden  prime 

Wilt  Thou  not  visit  me? 

Within  these  woods  of  Arcadie 

With    what    deep    murmurs,    through    time's 

silent  stealth 

Worn  voyagers,  who  watch  for  land    . 
Would  I  were  lying  in  a  field  of  clover   . 

Ye  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers   . 
Ye  friends  that  gild  my  humbler  way 
Ye  who  would  have  your  features  florid    . 
Yonder  comes  the  powerful  King  of  day 
You  ask  for  fame  or  power?      .... 


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\ 


